I Hate It Here: An Essay on Depression.

I hate doing this.

I hate the need to feel forced to write when I have nothing to say other than the relief I feel after the weight has been released from my chest. “I Hate It Here” is a statement I mutter to myself almost always; it’s become so natural that I’ve almost forgotten the origin of the message.

“Here” is Twitter.

“Here” is Instagram.

“Here” is the Internet.

“Here” is my home.

“Here” is America.

“Here” is my mind.

Nihilism isn’t anything new for me but being alone with my thoughts is. I’ve recently moved states, and with that move came the “upside” of having no roommates. Living on my own was something I’ve wanted to do forever, so I grabbed the opportunity. I’d hoped that my mental health would change, not necessarily go away, but change. After a few weeks of processing this new environmental information, I quickly began feeling depressed with no discernable reason as to why.

Now, I’m not a doctor, and I have yet had the privilege to be able to be diagnosed correctly, but there are times when I feel nothing, and I hate it. I completely understand how someone moving to a new area with no friends to hang out with during a global pandemic can be depressing, but I don’t even enjoy my own company anymore.

My days mostly consist of me sleeping. If I’m not sleeping, I’m on my phone seeing what the world is doing. Although I’ve made friends and acquaintances through these social media platforms, I feel as disconnected as possible from people. I’m also aware that this is “my fault.” I don’t want to make it seem like people don’t reach out or are oblivious to my woes but what I’m saying is sometimes that’s not enough. My insecurities are woven into the perceptions of me by others.

My need for approval is the root of my depression, and my youthful appetite for self-destruction has eliminated my idea of self-worth. I only value myself highly if those I have high value in seeing me as such. To get approval from your peers is the same as someone telling you, “you’re not crazy. I get it.” Even now, as I type this, I wish some major publication would read this and say, “let’s give this kid a job!” because that would alleviate the existential void that I am for a maybe a day.

I’ve been depressed long enough to realize that regardless of how I feel, It’s not anybody’s fault. I know a lot of this reads as ‘woe is me,’ but this is honestly the best way to get this out and feel better. I’m forever grateful for the people who check on me, and I know I’m not alone. It’s just been a long year. In all of this, I am grateful to be able to complain about living alone and the other small things that seem to bother me.

“Everybody’s going through something” seems to be alma mater for those unable to provide depth. If Capitalism has taught me anything, it’s somebody always has it worse. It’s also this mentality that often damages any apathy from me in regards to my depression. Whenever I compare my issues to those less fortunate, I become even more depressed that I’m not “strong enough” to handle my situation. And how wants to be the depressing friend who calls all the time to complain about how shitty their life is?

All in all, I’ve realized that depression isn’t something you suffer from; it’s something you live with. If you feel depressed but cannot properly find a way to voice your hurt, I’d like to let you know that your feelings are entirely valid, and you’re not a burden. Thank you for taking the time out to read this; it means a lot.