A/N: This is kinda weird. It doesn't really make a whole heap of sense, but it just came out. Let me know what you think. I just had to write this.
Seth liked to think that when it came down to it, he was a happy person. He really, desperately wanted to believe that.
He didn't want to face the fact that he had been moody, sulky and sad ever since he was about nine years old. He didn't want to believe that he had been depressed since the age of thirteen. He wanted to think that he was a normal person, who lived a normal life, and experienced normal feelings and events. If he was being honest though, he knew that it wasn't true.
It all depends how you define normal. If normal was someone who lived in a relatively small town and hung out at the local diner with their friends, then no, he wasn't normal. If you defined normal as someone who had no real problems, no extremities in their life then, again, no, he wasn't normal. And if normal to you was someone who was happy, content and friendly, then, no, he wasn't normal. Seth was beginning to wonder if their was a variation of the definition of normal that fit him.
When Ryan came to stay with them, he gained some semblance of a normal life. He finally had a group of friends, a girlfriend and a life outside of comic books and sailing classes. He supposed that he was happy. He was definitely happier. He often wondered whether happiness was something gained over a long period of time, or whether it came like a bolt of lightning; one minute you were depressed, and the next you were happy. Because, if the bolt of lightning theory wasn't correct, then he wasn't sure if it was even possible for him to be happy. Sure, it hadn't happened exactly like that; it wasn't as though one minute he was all alone and the next he had friends and a social life, but it had happened quickly. He hadn't really had a long time to adjust to this new phase of his life; this new feeling.
Then again, he continued thinking to himself, Marissa had had friends, a boyfriend, a family who loved her and a social life ever since he could remember, but she had never been truly happy. He wondered whether some people were more capable of happiness than others. Maybe some people missed out on the gene that allowed them to feel happiness for an extended period of time. Maybe some people would never be satisfied. Seth hoped he wasn't one of those people. He didn't want to be Marissa.
See, Seth worried about things. A lot. It was a bad side effect of being alone for about sixteen years. One of many. He had a lot of time to think. Thinking made him scared. He understood people. He had observed them with a critical eye for so many years that whenever he thought about things, this underlying knowledge always managed to worm its way in there. Seeing as he thought about himself and his life a lot, this knowledge made him understand himself a great deal more than the average sixteen year old, or even the average person. What he realised about himself terrified him. He hated to think that he had been depressed for over five years. It made him wonder what his life would be like, if he was capable of such extreme sadness for so long. Would he ever be able to be a normal person? Would he be able to feel happiness without remembering the sadness? On the other hand, one who had never experienced sadness could never truly appreciate happiness. If this was the case, then Seth appreciated happiness a lot. Maybe his sadness had helped to path the way to a happier adulthood. He certainly hoped so.
The thing was, Seth understood himself, but he had about a million different theories that contradicted each other. Maybe if he was somebody else, observing and studying himself, he would be able to look at his behaviour and mannerisms objectively. He would be able to decide which theory was correct. Seth believed that if he was somebody else, then he would understand himself a lot better. Seth could never truly understand himself, and he knew that. He could never do that, because he was too close to the situation. He needed to be able to remove himself. Whenever he made decisions about himself, he tried to find reasons and explanations. If he didn't like the conclusion that he had drawn, then he would try to talk himself out of it. What he needed was facts. Simple facts that were non-negotiable, and couldn't be changed or tampered with. That couldn't be tweaked and polished to suit his view on who he was, or who he wanted to be.
Seth wanted to understand himself. And he did. But what he didn't understand was why he could read people and understand others so well, but nobody could understand him. It wasn't even as though he paid a whole heap of attention to others anymore, now that he was happy, or whatever he was nowadays. Was there something so different about him that he was unreadable?
Seth wasn't normal. Nobody could ever understand him. He was a 'complex individual', as his therapist had put it on his first and only visit to her. As if he didn't already know that. He knew that this lady wasn't going to tell him anything that he didn't already know about himself, so he didn't waste his time going after that.
Happiness was contentment. Happiness wasn't satisfaction, and happiness wasn't, or shouldn't be, affected by outside forces. Happiness was internal peace. When Seth realised this, he finally knew. If this definition was correct, then he wasn't happy. He had been alone for practically his whole life, and he had never been happy. What he was feeling now wasn't happiness, because it didn't come from within him. It came from other peoples opinions and judgements, from other peoples company and just from them as a whole. He found that he didn't really care though. Whatever he was feeling, whether it be real happiness or pseudo-happiness, was making him feel good. He looked forward to each day instead of dreading it. He laughed instead of crying, and he smiled instead of frowning. Seth Cohen was content, and he decided to write his own definition of happiness. Happiness was contentment, internal satisfaction, and even if outside forces impacted this feeling, it didn't make the feeling any less real. It had always been inside him, but other people were helping him to release it. Everybody was capable of happiness. He knew that now. They just had to look.