I don’t know how to describe the feeling of crossing the state line back into Maine after being gone for three weeks. It was like my stomach dropped into a pit, and every part of me was begging to turn around.
I find it so irritating how strongly I dislike this state. I hate this state, and I hate the fact that I hate it. I want to love it so badly. I want to wake up every morning excited to see this beautiful place—but from the moment I arrived with a U-Haul, nothing has ever felt right.
I’ve spent months trying to convince myself it’s all in my head, and I know my friends are tired of hearing me shit on the state they grew up in. But I can’t help it—and honestly, I’m tired of hearing myself complain, too.
I have one year left, and I keep trying to tell myself to make the most of it, but this state makes me miserable. I never thought a single place could make me feel so sad, but just the idea of being here dampens my mood. And nobody gets it.
Yeah, some shitty things have happened while I’ve been here, but plenty of shitty things happened in the state I grew up in, and I still survived—and even thrived at times. But the seasons and the weather in this state are insufferable for me.
Even my favorite time of the year is shortened here because of the hell they call winter, and I’m so fucking over it. Over it to the point where I’ve started looking at different schools to transfer to—because fuck Maine.