I often practiced smiling in the mirror. Bringing my face close to its reflection, I would pull the corners of my mouth upward, a dimple forming only on the left side. I’d smile with my mouth closed, keeping my lips tightly pressed together. I’d hold it until my mouth began to twitch, staring into my own eyes, and then I would let the smile fall.
Then I would fake a laugh, pretending someone had said something funny. First, just a casual laugh with a slight tilt of the head. Then I would work myself up to a louder, more hysterical laughter. After a few minutes, the laughter sounded psychotic. At this point, I began to wonder who I was. My face would become that of the black-haired woman from the lake I had seen that night as a teenager, with her chapped lips and blueish skin, or my mother or father, swirling and contorted, red with agitation. I could no longer see myself; the thought that it was me behind those eyes became too much to comprehend. Frightened, I would break the stare and cover the mirror with a bedsheet.
I was told you can trick your brain into thinking you’re happy if you force yourself to smile. Activating those muscles in your face stimulates your amygdala, increasing levels of dopamine and serotonin. They say if you fake-laugh for long enough, it will become real.
I was beyond trickery.