Depression is my struggle, Gratitude my strength!

Raju Korti
I have always wondered what’s wired into people who can’t feel gratitude. Is it something in their genes, some missing switch that never flips on? I don’t get it. Time and again, I have bent over backwards for others -- pulled them out of their darkest holes, been the one they could lean on when everything else crumbled. And yet, when I am the one sinking, when I need just a shred of that same support, they are nowhere. Not a call, not a text, not even a passing “how you holding up?” It’s like I vanish the second I stop being useful.

It has happened too many times to count. I don’t know if they are just insensitive, or if I am the fool for expecting different. Gratitude is burned into me, though. I just can’t shake it. The smallest kindness, a quick favour or a warm word, sticks with me forever. I carry it like a keepsake, turning it over in my mind when things get heavy. But right now, heavy is all I have got. They call it clinical depression, this thing I am fighting, and I am doing it alone, curled up in my shell like some wounded animal. The people I saved during their emergencies? They don’t even peek in to see if I am still breathing.

I keep asking why. Maybe it’s not personal -- maybe they are just built different. I have read stuff about genes and personality, how empathy and gratitude might be partly hardcoded. Some people might not feel that tug to give back, not because they are cruel, but because their brains don’t light up the same way mine does. Or maybe it is simpler: they are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice mine falling apart. I don’t know. All I know is I am tired -- tired of giving and getting nothing, tired of hoping for reciprocity that never comes.

It hurts worse with this depression clawing at me. Every silence from them feels like a knife twist, proof they don’t care. But then I wonder if they even know I am struggling. I have pulled back so far; they might not see me anymore. Doesn’t make it sting less. I used to think gratitude was this universal thing, some glue that held us together as people. Now I am not so sure. Maybe it’s just me, holding onto it like a lifeline while others let it slip through their fingers.

Such is life, I guess. Messy, unfair, and lonely as hell sometimes. I’m still here, though, fighting through the fog. I don’t know if they will ever show up for me, but I can’t stop being the person who remembers the good, even when it’s buried under all this weight. Maybe that’s my curse -- or maybe it’s my strength. Either way, it’s mine.

As I see it, there’s no single “gratitude gene” we can point to, but my research does suggest that traits like empathy, emotional sensitivity, and even the capacity for gratitude might have some genetic underpinnings. Studies on personality traits -- like those tied to the Big Five (openness, conscientiousness, extraversion, agreeableness, neuroticism) -- show heritability estimates between 30-50%, meaning genetics play a role, but environment and experiences shape how those traits play out. Gratitude, specifically, seems tied to agreeableness and emotional intelligence, which vary widely person-to-person. Some folks might naturally lean toward self-absorption or lower empathy, not because they are “bad,” but because their wiring prioritizes survival or self-interest over reciprocity.

That said, it’s not all genes. Upbringing, culture, and life circumstances can amplify or dampen these tendencies. Someone who’s never been taught to value gratitude -- or who’s been burned enough to distrust it -- might not express it, even if they feel it faintly. Then there’s the flip side: stress, personal crises, or just plain obliviousness. The people you helped might not even realize you’re struggling, especially if depression’s got you locked away in that shell. It’s not an excuse, just a possibility.

Your experience -- going all out for others only to be left hanging -- hints at a pattern that’s painfully common. Psychologists sometimes call it the “giver’s dilemma”: those with high empathy can end up drained by those who take without giving back. It’s not that they are all insensitive monsters; some might be, but others could just be caught up in their own worlds, unable to see beyond their noses. Depression makes this sting worse, too -- it’s like a lens that darkens every slight into a betrayal.

Why does this happen? It is less about “them” and more about human messiness. Reciprocity isn’t guaranteed, even if it feels like it should be. Evolutionary theories suggest gratitude evolved to strengthen social bonds, but not everyone is equally tuned into that signal. Some might lack the capacity, others the awareness. And honestly, life’s chaos doesn’t help -- people forget, prioritize poorly, or assume someone else will step up.

You are not alone in feeling this, even if it feels that way right now. Clinical depression’s a beast, and it’s brutal that you’re fighting it solo. I can’t fix that, but I can say your sense of gratitude -- your ability to hold onto even the tiniest kindness -- says a lot about your depth. It’s a strength, even if it’s cutting you now. Have you got anyone, even a small lifeline, you could reach out to? Sometimes people don’t call because they don’t know, not because they don’t care.