The Abroad Depression

THE JOURNEY

It’s been one week and three days since you moved to France, and to your surprise, you don’t have a roommate. You’d probably think, wow, that’s amazing — the freedom to do whatever you want in your own space.
But here’s the catch: it’s a new country, a new town, new people — and a small town, by the way — so it’s pretty hard to make friends when everyone minds their own business. And maybe, just maybe, there’s also the aspect of being Black in a predominantly white area.

You’ve taken walks around, even gone to the city over the weekend. You’ve tried reaching out to a Kenyan girl who lives about 30 minutes away, hoping she could visit or you could visit her. But the reality is — this isn’t like Kenya. Thirty minutes here feels like a whole journey. There’s no public transport between small towns; it’s either you have a car or you walk. You’ve gone to the supermarket a thousand times, hoping you’ll meet someone who’ll become your friend and who stays around.

Living alone abroad — nobody really prepares you for the loneliness. They warn you, but you never think it will get this bad.
“What do you mean I can’t just walk to my neighbor’s house, hang out on the porch, laugh, and drink tea or eat some chips? My neighbor can’t come over so we can try a new recipe, go grocery shopping together, or even attend church together?”

You could call your family and friends back home, but it’s not the same. You envy people who at least have roommates — someone to argue with about staying too long in the bathroom, leaving dishes in the sink, or deciding who’s cooking today. Sigh.

You’re probably thinking, what about events? Well, local events are in the city — another crazy bill to consider. Life is expensive; we all knew that, didn’t we? So here you are, at 9 p.m., with no work today — zero human contact since yesterday. You’re used to coming home to your dad’s endless calls, hearing about your little brother’s wild day at school, and sharing gossip with your house manager who’s practically your sister.

Now it’s just your music, your evening walks, your magazine duties, your coloring books, your Netflix, your unhealthy dinner choices — and you.

One month in, the heaviness still hasn’t left your body. You had a two-week holiday and decided to hang out with people from your country. It’s all laughter and games, and finally, you think everything is starting to make sense — but then that creeping thought returns: what if you were better off back home? Maybe you just miss home. This sense of familiarity makes you realize how much you want to go back — back to your friends and family. You start questioning yourself — are you crazy, dramatic, or just… hurting?

You’ve been trying so hard to stay positive, to make this dream abroad work, but it’s getting heavier as the days go by. It’s time to go back to your apartment. The trip feels daunting — almost like going back to prison. You arrive home, trying to stay optimistic despite the sun setting at 6:30 p.m. What a bummer — but hey, at least you got a breather, right? The door swings open, and there it is — the shadow of depression welcoming you back.

You think, let’s take a bath. Soft music, warm water — maybe it will help. But what next? You could sit in that bathtub for five days and no one would ring your doorbell. There’s no one coming to save you.

It’s been two days since you came back. You’ve cooked, opened the curtains, undone your hair, talked to a few friends, and handled magazine duties — basically clocked in to work from home. But at the end of the day, it’s still there. You ask yourself,what am I doing wrong? Why is the sadness still chasing me?

No human contact for 72 hours now — you’re drowning. You’re a prisoner who’s free to leave. Suddenly, you don’t wake up from your couch. You don’t eat breakfast till it’s 2 p.m., and it’s leftovers. You don’t respond to texts. You don’t take a shower. You take a break from your company. Finally, someone invites you to the club, but you’ve got no more strength to stand up from that couch. So you sit there, watching the gloomy weather as you cry, sleep, cry, sleep… and the pattern continues.

Is this really the abroad dream you fantasized about?