"I’d lie in bed for hours, barely eating, doom-scrolling, avoiding sunlight, just… fading"

Isolation is the new cigarette: depression isn’t aesthetic–it’s survival. 

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Written By Joey-Mae Bucaneg

Edited by Kamilla Jumayeva

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Something is shifting in how American teenagers move through the world. It’s in the posture, the tone, the way laughter sometimes comes too easily at things that aren’t funny, or how pain is brushed off with a shrug.. They scroll, they joke, they disconnect. It all appears effortless. But under the surface, something’s not right—and has never been.

The numbers are loud. According to the CDC’s 2023 Youth Risk Behavior Survey, nearly 60% of teen girls in the U.S. reported persistent sadness or hopelessness. Rates of anxiety and suicide attempts have sharply risen, especially among LGBTQ+ youth. Though it is often explained as a result of symptoms of the pandemic, of smartphones, of hormones, those explanations feel like just the tip of something heavier.

It’s not just the statistics – it’s the quiet things. The way trauma has become casual conversation. How jokes about being numb, tired, or broken feel safer than admitting pain. It’s how some of us go entire days without speaking to anyone outside of a screen. And when we do reach out, it is met with, “You’re young, you’ll get over it,” or “Everyone’s going through something.”

The U.S. Surgeon General has equated the long-term health risks of loneliness to smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. But for teens, this goes beyond loneliness. It’s a curated detachment. Social media gives the illusion of connection while asking us to be perfect. We’re taught to be digestible, not honest. To turn pain into aesthetics. To filter everything—even suffering.

One teen I spoke to who wishes to remain anonymous described it like this: “Around 12, I’d lie in bed for hours, barely eating, doom-scrolling, avoiding sunlight, just… fading. Depression isn’t aesthetic–it’s survival. I didn’t want to be seen as ‘dramatic’. I just wanted to feel real again.”

I’ve started to think of this as our generation’s cigarette—something we were handed before anyone told us the cost. Chronic isolation. Performative connection. Emotional suppression. It’s not always visible, but it’s always there. And just like smoking, it wears us down, slowly and silently.

A 2023 APA report points to overstimulation, trauma exposure, academic stress, and digital dependence as compounding factors. It’s not just the pain teens are experiencing, but the troubling ways many have learned to cope with it. Grief is memed. School shootings are normalized. Vulnerability is mistaken for weakness.

Even in families and communities of color like my own, mental health is a subject approached with silence or denial. My panic attacks, my sister’s depression, were treated as exaggerations. The stigma runs deep, and so many of us are navigating it without a guide.

Mental health is everywhere now—in campaigns, in school posters, on TikTok—and still, nothing really changes. Awareness isn’t the finish line. It’s just the beginning.

Fixing this means reshaping how we understand emotional survival. It means schools where empathy is part of the curriculum. Parents who don’t dismiss sadness as immaturity. Systems that offer therapy and healing not just in crisis, but as care. And online spaces that stop rewarding detachment and start rewarding honesty.

We are not broken. We are not dramatic. We’re teenagers, trying to stay human in a world that makes it hard to feel.

We deserve more than awareness.

We deserve to be seen.

If you're going through a tough time right now, you're not alone — and there is help.

You can call or text 988 anytime to reach trained counselors at the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, or SAMHSA’s Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357) for free guidance. If you prefer texting, message HOME to 741741 to connect with the Crisis Text Line. All are free, confidential, and available 24/7. Someone is always ready to listen.