Losing Myself

Happiness was once present, this I know.
The grasp on what this was, alas, was not.
I knew not how to define what this was to me when I had it, how I wish i put pen to paper and
therefore had some form of reminder as to how this would be demonstrated once again in
this, now lost, existence of mine.
You see, I only realised I had it once it was so quick to be gone.
Now I think back to these times in which I smiled and laughed, and I attempt to
impersonate a person that was once me.
But I find myself in a state of confusion when I attempt to find my previous self.
My fruitless attempts become nothing more than a massacre of characteristics, splattered all
over the place.
An onslaught of personalities, for I do not
know anymore which was mine own.
Regardless of which one I choose, I always feel like it is nothing more than an
impersonation, a false pretence.
Just a made up person whom I am just pretending to be.
Just a lie.
No matter who I am.
I sincerely do not know how else to explain
my situation.
Who am I?
This is all I want to know. Or maybe, who WAS I? Is now more fitting.
I have a firm grasp on one fact of this matter,
no matter what, I am aware of only this.
That person.
That stranger.
That man I used to be…. Has died.
For now, each day I will become someone made up of many.
Whoever that is today, even I do not know. There is no point in wondering anymore.
I accept this as my punishment.
I accept this as my fate.
Punishment for not caring who I was.
Until it was just too late.