How Depression Is Like a Hitchhiker Who Won’t Leave the Car

Depression is strange. It lies and it’s mean. But, for me, it’s oddly comforting. Somewhere along the meandering road of my life, I picked up a hitchhiker.

This passenger tells me things. Some things, I actually want to hear. Some things I don’t.

“You’re too smart to be around those people.”

“You’re too ‘stupid’ to be around those people.”

“You’re too good.”

“You’re too bad.”

“You’re too fat.”

“You’re too thin.”

“You’re too… much.”

The hitchhiker never says I’m “just right.” So, it starts to feel like no one ever does. I’m Mama Bear’s bowl of porridge — too cold; Papa Bear’s bed – too hard. Discarded by Goldilocks. Rejected.

Even if someone comes along and miraculously likes my temperature, the hitchhiker drowns them out. “They’re lying. They want something. They’re using you. Don’t trust them.” So, I keep driving. Just me and the hitchhiker.

It sounds like I would want to get rid of a passenger like that as soon as I could. The first town, diner, truck stop. Dump that baggage weighing me down! It’s that easy, right? Kick him to the curb! Who needs him? I do. Strange. His lies make me feel alone. More than that. I’m lonely. My hitchhiker has successfully alienated everyone in my life. There’s no one left but him. It’s cold and dark on the road. No one else is talking to me. Sure, he’s saying some pretty harsh things, but at least he’s saying something. No one else is. Could I handle the silence if he were gone?

So, I keep him. I try to make room for other passengers along the way. Sometimes, they ride in the back. I can carry on some pleasant conversations for a time. There are long strips of this road trip called Life where my hitchhiker even falls asleep and I can pretend he’s not even there. Those are nice. I can open my window, feel the breeze on my face and laugh with my friends. That’s what life must be like for other people. But then he wakes up hungry and cranky.

My other passengers make half-hearted excuses to leave at the next stop. They have to catch the bus or they already bought plane tickets to visit their mom. I beg them not to leave me with the hitchhiker but they leave anyway, silently blaming me for keeping him in the car. I want to scream that I don’t have a choice. I want to kick him out but I can’t. He’s the only one who doesn’t leave me. The hitchhiker hugs me close and whispers, “You’ll always have me.” The road trip continues, always a little darker, heavier.

Once or twice, I find a special someone who braves the front seat with me and the hitchhiker. Someone who sees the hitchhiker but gets in close anyway. It makes me nervous but excited. Maybe this person can help me kick the hitchhiker out for good. Maybe this person won’t leave like all the others. Maybe this person will help the sunshine stay. Maybe.

Things are tight in the front seat with the three of us, but it’s OK at first. I like having the new person close to me… in between me and the hitchhiker. He pushes the hitchhiker and all the ugliness away. Ah, this feels so good. Is this what love is? I’m driving along and the sun shines. My new passenger invites more people into my car and I’m actually OK with it. Because the hitchhiker is quiet for once. I can hardly believe it.

“Am I good enough for Goldilocks now?” I think to myself, smiling in the breeze.

We stop for a picnic. Everyone wants to enjoy the cool breeze and warm sun. Great idea! The hitchhiker stays in the car as my front-seat person and back-seat entourage pile out, laughing and talking about life plans. I suddenly realize I don’t understand what they’re saying. I start to feel a little out of place. An uneasiness creeps in. I look back to the car. The hitchhiker is smirking at me from the window. My front-seat person is smiling up at me from the blanket spread on the grass. I want to join him. I want to be a normal, smiling person.

“Dammit, I want to be the good porridge!!” I think, torn between sitting down in the sun and running for cover in the car.

As I drive away from the picnic, the hitchhiker says, “Now, now. You know you’re too much for those people. They would’ve left you eventually.”

I smile sadly as a tear rolls down my cheek.

Depression is strange.