Finding Richie

Prologue

"Richard? Are you paying attention, young man?" The kind hearted voice of my teacher echoed in my ears, almost painful. "Yes ma'am." I responded quietly. "What would you like to be when you grow up, Richard?" She asked in a sweet tone, like you could make a baked good out of it. This question always perplexed me, so ridiculous to ask children what they'll be when they grow up. Children haven't even experienced anything to know what they want to do for the rest of their life. It doesn't matter, we're all going to die anyway.

"I'm not very sure, ma'am." I answered. My teacher sighs and moves on to the other students. They all say things like firefighter, police officer, baker, scientist, stereotypical stuff. I don't know what I want to be, I don't know where I'll be. Hopefully, I won't live long enough that I need to decide what I want to be. I felt a pang of a strange feeling that I couldn't describe. It wasn't a good feeling, I was unsure what it was. It felt like a weight on my chest and my shoulders.

This is the earliest I remember realizing that I was not a happy person. Only being eight years old at the time I didn't exactly know how to describe what it was that I felt. I would later on learn to call it numbness. A sadness so deep that I either felt it for weeks, or didn't feel anything at all. Some would call this pain but I wouldn't. I call this life, the never ending soul sucking feeling that is my life. I don't know that I'll ever be happy, or if I'll ever fit in. Fuck, I don't know if I'll live long enough to see happiness. You see the thing you need to realize is, I am not a happy person. And don't say "But Richie things will get better." I've thought that for years, been told that for years, yet I still long for that feeling of joy that everyone talks about. To be happy, just once to be happy and feel okay.