The Post You Don’t Want to Read: Why I Hate Edinburgh

I’ve been wanting to write this post for a while now, but I honestly didn’t know where to start and in so many ways, I feel so much shame in sharing this. I still don’t know what to say, but here goes… I struggle with mild depression.

One year ago, Andrew and I moved to Edinburgh and to be honest, I hate it. On most days, all I want is to just go home. I hate the weather. I hate the rain, the overcast days, and the wind. I’m miserable walking outside in the cold. I can’t stand going outside to walk through wind and rain. I hate the food. I can’t stand potatoes, shortbread, or meat pies. I hate going out and get so sick whenever I ride the bus (I’m pretty sure I have See Sickness Syndrome). I literally eat a ginger chew every time I go on a bus to prevent my motion-sickness. I hate feeling tired all the time, I hate feeling sad, and I hate how anti-social I’ve become.

It’s been really tough. I find myself crying most days and not really knowing why. All I know is that I’m sad, I don’t want to be here, and I just break down. This supposed adventure of a lifetime has become a nightmare of tears and loneliness from which I don’t know when I’ll wake up.

But, how? How could someone like me have depression? I have Christ, a supportive family, a great community at home, a decent job, a nice roof over my head, a loving husband, and the opportunity to travel around Europe with my favorite person. How could someone with so much be so depressed? Isn’t depression for people who experienced traumatic suffering? I’ve moved away before and was totally fine.

I recognize my sadness, suffering, and struggles as depression, but once I do, it makes me feel weak and sinful, and then eventually apathetic about everything.

My breakdowns have been so bad that they’ve kept me from trying to make friends or going to church, the two things that are supposed to most tangibly assist with my loneliness. In all honesty, Sundays are actually the worst. Most Sundays, I debate with myself, whether or not to ask my co-workers to switch shifts with me so that I can make it to church. Most of the time, I do get the earlier shift that allows me to get to our 4pm service. Then I work 8 hours on a Sunday, force myself to walk 30 minutes to church after an 8-hour shift of standing, and try to endure an hour long service that only makes me miss my community at home even more. Truth be told, even though I’m convinced that we’ve found the best church for us in the city, all I think about every Sunday is how much I hate church, how much I hate Edinburgh, and how much I hate people.

It’s not as though people have been unfriendly to me. Quite the contrary. My co-workers are very nice and many people from our church invite us to their homes. I’ve even noticed people making specific efforts to reach out to me, but the truth is that I just don’t want to try and don’t really care even though I’m lonely. Most of the time, I feel too tired to make friends, too tired to go out for dinner, and too tired to walk outside my door. I don’t want to “work” so hard to have friends and when I have to “work” for it, I ultimately feel that I don’t belong here.

I know…That’s a very selfish way of thinking, but I’m discouraged. I can’t see the end of the tunnel…and it sucks.

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds.
– James 1:2

We’re supposed to count it all joy when he meets trials of various kinds? But how on earth do you count depression as joy? I don’t know. I’m still working that out. Please pray for me. I’m depressed. I know I’m blessed. I know people love me. I know there is hope, but I’m still hurting.

Okay, enough of writing my thoughts. It’s time to look at some silly doggies.