Imagine having the superpower to suppress your emotions– no, really. It would be so much easier to fake a smile, pretend that you're unbothered when someone is hurting you, not cry, and avoid backlash for being "dramatic" or "overreacting." Right? The thing is, it's constant. You can never turn off that power, and you can never not use it. It's always there. But so are those suppressed emotions, nagging in the back of your mind. You know how you really feel and exactly how you want to show it, but you're constantly forced to suppress them not just by society, but by your own brain and instincts... This is the story of Vince Meyers, the victim of this curse, who has no idea it's a curse and instead just thinks it's how he is and that it's normal for him.

Today is the day I graduate from high school, and I couldn't be happier to get out of this hell. High school never treated me so well; I was the kid who was "always happy" and supposedly had no care in the world. And I could see why. I was always smiling and only talking about the good things in life I experienced: running in cross country, playing tennis, and being the concert band pianist. I appreciate my momma for supporting me through all of those and pushing me to do well in school and just being great, but I never tell her about my feelings.
          That's because I am physically unable to express any. I feel them nagging in the back of my head but with no way to let it out. All through middle school and some of high school, people would push me around, single me out, and, basically, bully me. But I could never stand up for myself because my brain physically stops me from doing it. Then in high school people just stopped paying attention to me. Not treating me bad anymore, but not good either. Just not talking to me. Here I graduate with no friends, no idea what to do with my life, and no emotion. I don't know why I've been this way my whole life, but it's just the way I am. As much as I want to speak up and express the way I truly feel about everything I've been through, I could only speak of happy things and downplay it to make it okay... even when I'm alone in my own bedroom. There has to be something wrong with me.

I walked across the stage to receive my diploma and shook hands with Principal Bell with the biggest smile across my face. And soon enough, it was time to turn our tassels and throw our caps into the air. It was a perfect, magical moment, or so it seemed. All this useless hard work just to get a cap, gown, and piece of paper, only to throw our caps in the air. The only reason I had to be happy right now was to be free from school. Free from my bullies who I was physically forced to let walk all over me and keep acting the way they do. But that also meant no more cross country or tennis. My sports are where I was happiest, the genuine kind where I didn't have to fake a smile. I can still play my piano at home, however, which I might just do all day to distract from my true thoughts I can't express.
          I spent the rest of the day at home resting, tired from everything but still with that same smiling face I can't seem to change. "I'm so tired and so sad," I said out loud, but even saying my real feelings I still sounded happy... sarcastically happy. Someone needs to worry about me. I want to cry. I want to finally know what's going on in my head and why I am the way I am. Whatever that thing is that's making me this way, it's making me a prisoner of my own body and mind.
          "Vince!" called my mom from downstairs.
          I ran downstairs to see what she wanted. "Can I talk to you about something?"
          "Sure! What's going on?"
          "I'm really worried about you. You're smiling almost too much, and you never talk about anything. I know you've been through quite a lot of painful stuff, but it's almost like you can never show it. How about we get you some help?"
          I stood back to hint I was a little scared, but the instinct to smile right away stopped me from showing I was scared. Again, no expression. I only smiled with a nod. We both know something is wrong with me, but not exactly what.

So, my mom drove me to a behavioral health clinic not too far from home. I was surprised she never did this for me sooner, but better later than never! Before I knew it, I was in a nice room that gave me such a safe feeling, with comfortable chairs, light blue walls, and small plushies on the desk. The therapist sat down and smiled back at me then started the conversation: "Hi, Vince. My name is Dr. Wiler, and I'm glad to have you today. What brought you here?"
          "I feel so much but I can't express anything. I seem to be able to only express happiness even when I'm actually feeling so sad," I told her, still with a fake-looking smile.
          The therapist took notes as we spoke. "That's very strange. How long has this been going on?"
          "Basically my entire life, and I'm eighteen."
          "Wow. Have you ever tried expressing your emotions at all?"
          "Yes, but nothing except a fake-looking smile comes out. It always feels like I'm being sarcastic with what I say and how I say it. I've been bullied in school most of my life there, then it turned into being a loner and outsider who was never paid attention to and had no friends."
          "I'm so sorry, sir– I can imagine how difficult that would be, especially with no way to express it. I've been through some similar things and had to just pretend I was fine with it because I was too scared to speak out and do anything to stop it. But you say you've tried but couldn't bring yourself to do so?"
          "That's right, yes. It's like my mind and body physically stop me from trying to show any of my true feelings. It's kind of an instinct for me, suppressing everything I feel. But it's worked out okay for me because no one's had to stress themselves out by having to deal with me!" That was the fakest happiness I've ever shown while sharing something so real.
          "Sounds like you've been going through a lot, Vince. Do you feel like the only one who does that? Because if I'm being honest, it seems like you are. I mean no harm in this, but I've never seen anyone with that kind of... quality? Disability? I don't know what to call it."
          "Just because you've never seen it before doesn't mean it doesn't happen. And it's just normal for me, I guess. It hasn't been a big deal, like I said!"
          Dr. Wiler hesitated to give a concerned look. "I'm really worried about you. I know you're being honest with me, but you're smiling through all your talking of sad things that should be making you frown, show some kind of pain, or even cry. I'd imagine that because of the bullying you experienced, with all your smiles and suppression of emotions, that everyone thought they could push your boundaries because you couldn't express them as you wanted to?"
          "Yes. Everyone saw me as the happy-go-lucky kid who had no worries or care in the world. It was nice of them to think that but they don't know the truth. They wouldn't understand it. Because of that I could never stand up for myself. Look at my smile!" She looked at it, curious. "It looks so fake and real at the same time. I really want to cry about it but I can't! My body does the work for me in stopping that! I want to look like I care about something!"
          Then came the words from Dr. Wiley that I didn't want to hear but expected anyway: "I'm sorry, Vince, but I don't know how to help you."

Fair enough. No one's ever been able to help me out with showing my emotions. "I appreciate you trying, Dr. Wiley. Thank you!"
          "No problem. I think I know someone, though! Let me transfer you over to Dr. Britton real quick– she's really good with emotions and even more educated on this than I am."
          "Okay!" Dr. Wiley then picked up the office phone and dialed Dr. Britton.

Soon enough, Dr. Britton was over in the room, as Dr. Wiley left the notes there for her to go off of.
          "Hi there! You're Vince, right?"
          "Yes. Dr. Britton?"
          "Yes, that's me. Glad to see you. So Wiley transferred you to me with a problem on expressing and suppressing emotions. Let me read her notes here real quick," she said. I liked Dr. Britton; she was nice and welcoming. After a few minutes of reading and analyzing the notes, she looked up at me with an even more concerned look, as if she knew what was wrong with me. "It sounds like you have been through a lot, Vince. And I'm so sorry for you– I can't even imagine that. Have you heard of the National Supernatural Society?"
          "No, what is it?"
          "That's okay, a lot of people haven't. I only just heard of them the other day. But it's important that you do. Because they are a government organization that tracks the population, names, ages, and information about every person, sometimes before the people are even born, in the country and essentially conducts experiments with different superpowers and other supernatural gifts or abilities."
          Oh. No. "Could that mean they're experimenting on and tracking me and that they could have been the ones to make me this way?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "I thought superpowers and stuff like that were only in the movies."
          "I thought so too, but they're real. There's a pretty high chance you could be their test subject for some kind of supernatural... thing they developed. The thing is, they don't give any notice to anyone they test on or to any of their parents," explained an extremely concerned and heartbroken Dr. Britton.
          "We should visit them and find out. I deserve to know the truth!" my fake-happy self exclaimed.
          "I think you should. Now in this office, we promise confidentiality between client and therapist. But this big issue here is something we're mandated to report. We will have to tell your mom about this, okay? We're here for you, Vince."
          "That's okay, yeah. I think she should know too!"
          "Okay. Your mom should be out in the waiting room, right?"
          "Yes!"
          "Good, I'll call her in to discuss this issue and what we can do."

When my mom walked into the office with Dr. Britton, she had that same concerned look, confused. She gave me a hug, knowing I needed it. Then Dr. Britton went on about the whole National Supernatural Society and how I might have some kind of supernatural thing that suppresses my emotions because the Society experiments on select people with these abilities, blah blah blah.
          "Oh my goodness! That sounds so terrible. I did do the right thing getting you help, I guess," Mom reassured.
          I wanted to cry on her shoulder but was again suppressed. "You did, Mom. Maybe a little late but that's fine! At least you're doing it. Thank you."
          "You're welcome, bud. We do need to know. This Supernatural Society is so deceitful and cruel for not telling us anything about what they do. We should pay them a visit and see what they're really up to. Maybe they can reverse it some way?"
          "You guys are ambitious!" exclaimed Dr. Britton. "I admire that. It will be difficult, but good luck! Go for it. They're a really hard organization to get past from everything I've heard about them."
          "We're doing it anyway," replied Mom. Then she turned to me, "I'll do everything I can to get us past them and reverse the curse." I smiled and nodded at her, then we drove home after scheduling another appointment two weeks from now.

The National Supernatural Society headquarters are apparently hidden in Washington, D.C. somewhere. I looked everywhere online for a long time after therapy to find their website, but eventually found it through some other Capitol website. It was linked there among a huge list of federal government organizations. I read through their whole website and there was barely any information about what they do. Just a short little description of who they are: "We are the National Supernatural Society. We create superpowers, observe the benefits of them on people and society, and regulate them. Founded in 1995 to experiment what all kinds of superpowers and supernatural abilities would look like in real life instead of just watching them on the television or big screen."
          That was it. No contact information, no list or details on what specific powers they experiment with, no further explanation of their work, no records, none of anything. I knew they were suspicious. I was mad and tried to put on an angry face, but to no avail. I wanted to punch through the wall but that's not what the "happy kid" does.

A few days after my appointment, early in the morning, we drove out to D.C., which was about six hours away from our house in Pennsylvania. We were on a mission to get information from the Supernatural Society, but I had no idea what to do in the car. After stopping for a quick drive-through breakfast, all I did was take a nice, long nap in the backseat while Mom drove. I listened to a few songs to keep the motivation and spirits up also. I needed to go in there with pride.
          Before I knew it, we were there, parked in a lot outside a museum. I woke up with a smile on my face and the most motivation I had ever felt before. Now that was one thing I could express because it was another happy feeling. "We're here, Vincey!" I laughed at that– one name Mom always called me when I was little to make me truly happy. "Now, before we go in, I want to remind you again that this group is very secretive, deceitful, and potentially dangerous. I'll let you do some of the talking if you want me to, but I fear they won't take you seriously with all that smiling. It's not you though, don't worry. Is it okay if I do most of the talking when we need to?"
          I nodded. "Thanks Mom."
          "Alright, let's look around for this place." We got out of the car then began walking. We walked all around the city, knowing it was illegal to break into the Capitol building. We did get distracted, however, by deciding to see the Smithsonian art and natural history museums. That took up another hour and a half, and then we walked around the city again to continue our mission. Soon we found a building close to the Capitol. The front of it read something I couldn't translate into English. The doors were closed, but not locked. We had been looking all over the city for an hour now, and this is something?

Alarms were set off, though. All of a sudden, a mob of workers dressed in suits and armed with tasers came running towards us. "Hands up! Explain your business on our restricted property!" demanded the man front-and-center of the group as he pointed his taser at us.
          "Who are you!?" Mom yelled.
          "We're the National Supernatural Society, explain your business in our headquarters!" shouted another man in the mob.
          "We've been looking for you guys, actually! You have some explaining to do yourself," Mom shouted back. "We believe you have done something to my son here."
          This was them! Disguising their building as something that was open for everyone to enter, forgetting to lock their doors this very day we came to visit, and entrapping us. Deceitful, and I could even say evil. But I could still only smile at them.
          The front-and-center man pointed his taser at me suddenly. He came over to threaten me, just like all my school bullies did, and pointed his taser at my forehead. He looked me in the face. "Kid, what are you doing here standing and smiling!? Say something!!!"
          Mom ripped the taser out of his hand and pointed it at him instead. "Sir, he can't. We believe you've done something to my boy to make him this way! We need some information because I want to confirm that you guys have given him a curse that makes him suppress all his emotions except his happiness. Stop hurting my boy!"
          The mob stopped their anger for a second, and one of the men led us downstairs to the work station, which was a lab full of computers, trackers, and tech equipment I didn't understand. That made me recall how the only time I ever cried was coming out of the womb. How did they select who to curse with these "powers?" How did they track or keep records of us? Why did they choose me?
          One of the men in the mob was the one giving the information after I told them my name, birthdate, age, and hometown. "Vince Meyers... eighteen years old... April the fourth, 2003... Lancaster, PA... Ahh, here you are!" said the man doing the searching on one of the computers. They had all my information from my birth certificate and from my mom's insurance cards. How do they get that? I don't know. Then I saw something on the bottom of the digital copy of my birth certificate: "Supernatural Ability: Emotion Suppression." I knew it! Deep down, my world shattered. But I easily kept the smile strong because I can't do anything else... yet. I had been manipulated for eighteen years.

"Why do you do what you do?" I asked with that same smile that hid a lot. Then it was the kind that spoke a thousand words.
          "Well, we just want to see how this whole superpower thing works in real life because we love seeing them so much in the movies. We've developed technology to be able to put powers on people and see how they go through. We thought that emotion suppression would be a good thing because you wouldn't have to worry about burdening anyone with your emotional baggage, you wouldn't have to worry about that pain that comes with crying about anything, you wouldn't have to worry about people invalidating or shaming you for your feelings, and you wouldn't have to worry about being seen as overreacting or being dramatic. It's the perfect power, isn't it?" the man babbled on.
          "No it isn't," Mom asserted. "My boy has been through hell in middle and high school. He's been bullied, pushed around, and even beaten up! And he had no chance at standing up for himself or stopping it because of what you've done to him! Will you reverse it, please!? He's been cursed his whole life and we knew only today, although we had our suspicions since a few days ago."
         "Ma'am, calm yourself. We don't have a way to reverse the power. That I know of, at least," said the man. Clueless, deceitful.
          "You're calling this a power!? It's a curse! I don't need to calm myself. We deserve to know the truth and let Vince live his life on this Earth the way he deserves too!"
          I looked around the room, and saw a switch in a hidden corner. The screen on the wall above it was turned off, but I decided to go over there and check it out while Mom destroyed the man for his actions, which seemed to distract him. The switch was hooked to the computer, and I used the keypad below the screen to turn it on and search it. Then there was a bright blue-and-white screen with the Society's logo in the middle. On the side with the apps, I investigated one interesting app: "Reversal."

This is it, for sure. A list of names of everyone in the country appeared, so I used the filter bar to narrow it down to my age, state, and hometown. I scrolled until I found my name in bold and blue lettering, different from the rest of the names on that list. I was having fun getting into all these government files about curses.
          I clicked on it just in time for the man and my mom to walk over and look at how the heck I managed to get into the Reversal computer. That one switch controls everyone's powers. "Hey kid, get outta there! You're not allowed over there!" screamed the man as he attempted to pull me away from the switch corner.
          "Get your hands off my boy!" Mom screamed back at him, seeing what the heck I'm doing here. She turned to me and calmed her tone, "Reversal? Is this what we need?"
          "I think so," I whispered back.
          Next to my name was my information and a little description, which Mom and I read together: "On this young man, we're testing the beneficial effects of what the emotional suppression curse does. We do this to find a way for men to become more manly and strong because showing emotions other than happiness are weak, immature, and unmanly. This power's experiment has so far succeeded greatly in making this man tougher and making him, well, a man." Oh wow... I didn't know showing my emotions would make me less of a man. We read on. "With this, Mr. Meyers can keep his head held high and show that no one can push his smile away. That's how a man should be. For a man to show an ounce of emotion or talk about it is weak, needy, and much too feminine. This power will surely do the trick in making men what they're supposed to be. The magic switch is programmed to take away this power from him and make him normal, emotional again when flipped. Cannot be re-reversed after flipping it off, so do not flip. Exit this page to leave Vince Meyers's profile before flipping the switch again for other's powers to succeed."

I was shocked, a little hesitant to flip the switch at first. With the man watching, I was fearful of getting attacked again for doing that. What if flipping the switch ended my life? What if it injured me? I was fearful of the results. But I wanted to feel something. I wanted to show it. I want to show who I really am and that I will not tolerate being pushed around anymore.
          My mom said a few last words to the man, too stunned to speak or do anything to stop us. "You're just shocked that we know your secrets now. From now on, you will not let him be defenseless. Showing emotions takes a lot of courage, it takes a lot of strength. Especially for him, a boy, who's told to keep it all in. He is allowed to feel his feelings. It makes him no less of a man." Then Mom and I, together and hand-in-hand, flipped the switch.

A quick shock ran through my head, and I put my hands over my head in pain from the shock. I stepped back, almost tripping and falling. But after a few seconds, that shock stopped... and I wasn't smiling anymore. I broke down in tears all of a sudden, just like I had always wanted to do. Overwhelmed, stressed, sad, and angry all at once. I was crying about everything that had happened in my past that I had always wanted to cry about.
          Mom quickly exited the page, flipped the switch back, and came over to comfort me. "We did it, Vincey! You can cry all you want, you're safe with me. I'm here for you," she reassured me, rubbing my back. I had terrible flashbacks of my smiling while being bullied, pushed around, and violated by my peers during school. I thought of everything I wanted to say to them and do to stand my ground, and how no one ever took me seriously. That group of girls in eighth grade up through senior year that was always gossiping behind my back about how "difficult," "confusing," "childish," and "incapable of love" I was. The boys with such fragile and toxic masculinity who were always pushing me down in the halls while saying hurtful things to my face. And the lyrics of the songs I listen to and play on my piano suddenly meaning so much more. At the same time, I couldn't be any happier to feel. To feel what it's like to express my emotions for once, and to feel comfort and safety from my favorite person in the world, my mom.
          "What have you done!?" yelled the man, running the lab at this point. "That little Vincey boy must love his momma. Vince, see what you've done!? You need to toughen up."
         Mom and I let go of our hug, and then I stood up to him, still with tears in my eyes. "Leave me alone. What did you expect to happen when I flipped that switch to get rid of that curse, after all these years of suppression?"
          The man stood there in that silence that spoke a thousand words. "Okay. This experiment has clearly failed," he mumbled. "I must do something different. I thought that power would be a miracle to someone."
          "Well, it wasn't. Wasn't it?" Mom asked him.
          "It was a horrible curse. I felt so trapped instead. Just remember that for your future experiments," I insinuated to the man.
          The man then nodded in agreement. "Alright then, go away. Go home. Guess I've learned a valuable lesson. Let it go, I'll let it go, and let little Vincey here be a little wimp."
          So, we did. We let him wallow in his self-hatred for his experiment on me failing and laughed quietly at him.

Before we knew it, Mom and I were out of the lab, out of the building, and in the car again. The rest of the ride, Mom and I talked. "I know this is really difficult for you right now, to process everything we've been through today," she started, "and that's okay. I'll give you some time to do that and feel your feelings. But we did it."
          I grinned slightly, nodding. "We sure did." There were still a few tears in my eyes, so I let them fall while I took a drink from the bottle of water, now warm, I brought with me this morning for the ride. "Thank you so much, Mom, for helping me do this. I couldn't have done it without you."
          "Oh of course. I'm always here."
          "I know that," I grinned and nodded. "I'll have quite a story to tell next time at therapy."
          "You sure will, kiddo. Take all the time you need, when we get back home, to get some rest and take care of yourself."
          I sniffed another tear out and smiled a real, genuine smile. "I will. It might take a bit of time to get used to not smiling all the time, but I'll get there."
          "Good, I know you will. Are you hungry?" That's when I looked up and saw a huge parking lot in front of a strip mall of restaurants. I nodded, and we found a parking space. We walked into Red Lobster to eat a huge dinner because we hadn't eaten since breakfast on the way this morning.
          Inside, we talked about what the future would bring for me. "I don't know who I want to be yet or what to do with my life to make a living," I said after a sip of sweet tea. "I feel like I should by now, and that brought me a lot of pressure before. Especially by my counselor in high school, you know?"
          "I understand that. You don't have to focus on that right now, though. Just focus on yourself and recovery for now."
          I nodded. "I get it. I've thought about writing songs though. I'm decent, I guess, at piano. And I want to get better at that and at writing lyrics."
          She smiled at me. "That's a good idea! I have a feeling you could write a really good song. You'd have a lot to write about."
          Both of us laughed, and then I said, "yeah. My songs could change the world one day. They could tell my whole life story."
          "They sure will, Vincey. You will. I'll support you all the way with whatever you choose to do. Write with all your heart and emotion."