Definition: the state of being happy.

Happy meant to be cheerful and be in an absolute state of euphoria. And for a moment, you were. You knew what it felt like to genuinely smile and laugh- the sound of utter, sheer joy. It was a relief- a childish glee to be so carefree and happy, without worry of what others thought of you. You laughed at the smallest things, smiled at anything you saw, and everything was pure wonder and joy. 

You were always the entertainer, and making others happy was your natural forte. You could bring smiles just by smiling yourself. You had a crazy, random streak that people loved, and you could always say the right things to make others feel better and make their day. It was an effortless job on your part, and you were satisfied with what you were able to do. Seeing others happy made you happy. 

Then life got in the way.

Slowly, you felt that impeccable joy that surrounded everything start to fade and dull, like how shiny metal would turn to rust after some time. The smiles and laughter that came so naturally started to become forced. You had had to think of what your previous self would do to make others happy and feel better. It didn't bother you that you had become a living shell of your own self- you hadn't realised the empty, soulless being you had become all of a sudden. 

Occasionally, you would find something to genuinely smile about and laugh. It was your main source of happiness- this group of dorks who made the music that sang your soul and spoke the words you never could say yourself. You connected with them, and that was your source of happiness.And you knew you needed to cling onto it never let go- God knew when you would be able to find another source of joy like that ever again.

But as crappy as your life already was, they didn't approve of this form of joy. They criticise you, critisise the band, and constantly put you and your happiness down to suit their own needs and make themselves feel better. They thought they knew everything there was to you- and to them, this was not something you should be doing. They judged your choices, questioned your way of living and hated what made you happy. You didn't know why they acted like so- you wanted to tell them, make them understand, and much as you try, they still didn't. It killed you on the inside, and what was already rotting and dying escalated at a faster rate. 

Even those you thought would understand, didn't. They would give those looks- the looks that clearly said that you were out of your mind and obsessive. They didn;t like your reaction to the band and their music, and thought you were being pathetic and annoying. You kept silent, knowing now that whatever you said wouldn't change a thing and they still would judge and criticise you. You put on a facade, acting as if that didn't bother you- but it did, and it hurt. It hurt a lot. You didn't want to feel this way,but like everything else, it was incontrollable. 

You started to hate yourself. Why were you like this? Why couldn't you stand up for yourself? What had happened to you? You were a pathetic excuse for ahuman being and you avidly hated everyhting and everyone -your own self the most- for it. And you hated even hating anything. You knew you were messed up and ugly on the inside, but you prayed no one would see the real you, rotted and moulding away like a disease.

Ironic enough, the same people who put you down expected you still make them feel better and smile for them. And so you faked it. You had to fake it, so you did.

Happiness.

What did that even mean anymore? 

You find yourslef repeating what you would normally say, smiling so wide day-by-day that you feel as if your lips were going to split in two. Your laughter sounded fake even to your own ears, but no one noticed- they were too busy in theor own little bubble worlds to care what was happening to you. You became so good at hiding the pain and hurt and decay that ate you up, even you could fool yourself into momentarily thinking you were alright. But you knew you weren't.

You struggle to regain that light, that joy you once felt. You want to feel what happiness is again. You just want the old you back. And hopefully by then, the battle scars criss-crossing your soul could prove a reminder of what you had been through.

But the war isn't over yet.

Is there no one out there to save me?