When's the last time I fell asleep with a smile?

I don't know how to live happily without conflating bliss and self-conflagration, when's the last time I fell asleep with a smile? I can't answer that question, I can almost not comprehend it. Anxiety married happiness a long time ago, and it was beaten in by my head and the walls at which I stared. Deeper than that, a smile is a flaw unless intentional. How could I let you manipulate me? Why do I seem to laugh at everything? Why does it seem to hurt after a while? A smile is an attack on all fronts unless intentional. You see my face slip. You hear these involuntary sounds. I lose control and you strike. You lose control and I smirk. I can not cry and I can not laugh sincerely. I can not think and I can not relax. I can not speak and I can not remain silent. I want to give in. To be held. To be loved and to love. But evidently, I take it all too seriously, don't I? And, just the same, I don't take it seriously enough. I wait until I allow myself to laugh or smile. I live in doubt and fear and desire in-between. My greatest moments are making you laugh and smile. And then I question those very things. Their worth. My worth. Value. The value of us. And existential questioning topples my teetering tower of insecurities. Doubting life, it's worth, purpose, and qualities. My ability to perceive it in any meaningful way. How I am perceived. To understand any of it. To be sure. To allow it not to matter so much. To simply be. To be free if these are psychological shackles. If I was born or became incorrectly. I ask for what others see, but it wouldn't matter at all if I could perceive myself objectively. I would doubt it the same or fail to understand it. So there's only one answer. Move forward. Move on. Continue. Try. Live. Do. Hope I don't cause more pain. I can't bear it again. The pain of extreme failure. Knowing everybody knows. Regardless of circumstance. How much loss can I take? The way I'm going, I may find out. Inching towards my demise. Maybe I can find a way. If it didn't hurt so much to hold onto hope, only. The baggage that comes with it. This is my spirit. In need of healing. Wary of false healers. Unable to tell the difference. I'll know when she comes, the sister of mercy. The moon knows the way, I've heard. So I've heard. I've never been good with directions.