Yes, I'm using the famous "I never asked to be made" quote from Steven Universe as one of the themes. I feel that it's really fitting when you think of how the Hetalia characters would feel about situations such as what is explored in this story.

A special warning for explicit depiction of depression, suicidal thoughts, and the current American political climate.

Many words could describe how he felt.

Devastated. Heartbroken. Disgusted.

Possibly the one that described him the most was "defeated".

His country had decided that a violent-minded bigot was the person that they wanted to lead them into what they believed would be a better future. His country had decided that was a future in which women, people of color, the disabled, queer people, and the working class deserved to be left for dead. His country had decided to kick them while they were already crumpled in the dirt.

Many people thought that as the embodiment of America, Alfred had absolute power, but he didn't. No nation did. Alfred was nothing but a father to his country. He could tell his people what to do and what would be best, but that didn't mean that they would always listen to him. More often than not, he found half of his country rebelling against what he wanted.

Alfred was born from a land of slavery and genocide. People scoffed at him and saw him as a violent tyrant if not a crude, chaotic child.

That was why, to this day, he always held a smile on his face. Not only did he want to show that his violent creation didn't define him, but he also wanted to stay upbeat. He always found joy in the smallest of luxuries such as fast food and comic books. When other nations groaned or cowered at grim situations, he would always be there to crack a joke and show that no problem was too large to be conquered.

Being a self-proclaimed hero wasn't just a passion for comic books. It wasn't the superpowers that he wanted. It was the ability to save people from evil. One day, he told himself, he would eradicate that hatred that birthed him. He would prove to the world that he wasn't a product of his origins. He could rise above the blood-soaked soil beneath his feet and make a change for the better.

But there were many times when his smile's usual shine dimmed.

During one of the few times Matthew had the confidence to brag about his free healthcare, Alfred had to bite his lip as he remembered his struggle to convince his own citizens to do the same and failed. Besides, Matthew was his brother, and it wasn't often that he got the spotlight.

Whenever Arthur joked that Alfred's lower intelligence was because of his poor educational system, Alfred would go along and jokingly berate his own lack of intellect. After all, the other nations seemed to get a kick out of the "dumb blond" persona Alfred had adopted.

Whenever one of the nations would joke that Alfred's innocent dislike of "Dora the Explorer" was because of his citizens' history with illegal immigrants, he had to hold back tears. Everyone had at least one kids' franchise that annoyed them for some reason; why did his have to be connected to such a hurtful memory?

By far, one of the hardest things Alfred had to do was fight his own people for equality. As a white man, himself, he was often faced with accusations of "turning against his own people" and even faced the threat of assassination, despite the possibility of what would become of the land if he were to die. Everyday, Alfred went home and fought. He fought racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, and many other battles. He tried to compromise, be aggressive, bargain, and even outsmart his own government, but his efforts were brushed off of the table. If anything, Alfred was just a figurehead for America. He was a logo to represent its greatness to the rest of the world, and logos don't have opinions.

He was tired. He was miserable, but everyday he went to meet the other nations, he put on a smile because he wanted to keep his image of the hero. Heroes never fail their people. Heroes embody justice, and justice always prevails at the end of the day. No matter how many hardships came, that was an absolute truth. So long as Alfred believed that, his efforts would matter one day.

That night, though, when he won the exit polls, that image of justice in his mind began to fracture.

Alfred knew that congress wouldn't let him actually go through with his destructive plans. Alfred knew that Hillary had won the popular vote by over two-hundred thousand votes. Alfred knew that he was only elected so that the Republican party could have their title back. Alfred knew that this wasn't the worst that had happened to his country.

It wasn't the future that hurt Alfred.

It was the gesture.

Just now, Alfred had watched half of his people happily give the other half a death sentence simply because they couldn't let go of their own hatred.

He couldn't believe it. All his life, he worked hard to give everyone a chance. Eight years ago, he finally convinced his people to elect a black president. They had finally legalized gay marriage in all fifty states. Even their children's cartoons were starting to advocate diversity and acceptance. And he was so close, so close to finally having the first female president. It was trivial to some, but he knew how much it meant to those at the bottom of society.

All of his life's work had just been spat on by his own people, and right now, every other nation was laughing at his pain.

He could already imagine Arthur saying, "It's your own fault, moron."

The irony of that scenario put fire in Alfred's veins. Anger wasn't something he was used to feeling, but when he experienced it, it was usually caused by Arthur's haughty comments.

In these moments, Alfred would screw his eyes shut and imagine him taking the man by the arms and shaking him.

"You made me this way…!" he wanted to scream, "Your power-tripping made me this way, so don't you dare act like you're better than me!"

Now that anger was shifted towards someone entirely new.

Tomorrow, Alfred would have to meet with him at the White House along with Obama. He would have to be professional and treat him fairly.

Him: the man who embodied the very same hatred and violence that birthed Alfred against his will.

"Oh god…"

He fell to his knees in a sudden heap, sobs erupting from his throat, "I never even asked to be made…!" he cried out.

He repeated this phrase throughout his crying like some insane mantra, but he couldn't help himself. Centuries of bottling up his frustration and insecurity with himself were finally taking its toll.

Hours passed like seconds as Alfred lied in a crumpled mess on his floor. His tears made his flushed hot face stick to the hardwood below, and his body cramped. This wasn't the first time he had found himself like this. Most times, he would be able to get up, wash his face, and bask in the comforting release of his stress.

Tonight was different, though.

When he had finally calmed down enough to breathe, dangerous thoughts were pouring into his mind. Dangerous, vengeful thoughts that he only had once every blue moon. These thoughts were so rare and fleeting that he was typically able to shake it off with little concern.

But again, tonight was different.

Something inside had snapped, a single strong thread that had been holding everything together when all of the others had come undone.

Alfred remembered the numerous knives in his kitchen, the many pills in his bathroom closet, and the liquor Ivan had left in the refrigerator.

Could...he even die by such human means?

Even if he didn't die, would it put his people in danger?

"Those monsters deserve every ounce of that pain..."

The thought hurt, but felt justified in a perverse way.

Alfred stood up and staggered towards the bedroom. The way his body moved was like that of a ghost casting its dreary presence throughout the home it haunted. His normally vibrant blue eyes dragged their gaze along the floor, and his lips stayed parted with unsaid anguish.

Alfred didn't even remember flicking on the light switch or stepping over piles of discarded clothes.

He reached into his drawer where he knew he had a rope. He and Gilbert had planned to use it for an outdoor project. The package hadn't even been opened yet. It was thin, and Alfred knew nothing about tying knots, but he'd figure something out.

As usual, his drawer was cluttered, and many items fell out before he actually found the rope, one of them being a cardholder.

He yelped as the hard object hit his ankle and cracked open, sending bundles of cards flying all across the floor.

The pain was enough to partially shake Alfred out of his gloomy haze. He knelt down to rub his aching foot as he hissed, but then something caught his eye.

Adjacent to his foot was a card with an alarming string of words.

"Suicide Prevention Lifeline"

It was one of the many emergency numbers on the list, nestled right between a number for domestic abuse and sexual assault.

He never thought he would need it, but he kept the card anyway. He kept anything that he was given, which was why his room always stayed the way that it was.

Alfred picked it up and stared at the numbers for a moment, his haze slowly clearing up.

"If I die, the people who worked with me to fight against bigotry…they'll be gone, too," Alfred blinked "And all the people who were victims to that bigotry…they would only suffer more."

Alfred reached for the telephone on his nightstand and dialed the number.

It only rang once before a woman introduced herself and their service.

"Hello? This is Alfred F. Jones…the United States of America…"

As a queer black woman, this election has completely devastated me. Everyday, I face discrimination, but this was the first time in my life I had ever felt afraid because of the uprise of bigotry as a result of Donald's election. Like Alfred, I was in a dangerous headspace, but also like Alfred, I chose to seek help. Alfred may just be a fictional character, but he loves to be the hero and I see his optimism and spirit as inspiration. Please, if any of you are suffering as a result of this election, call any crisis hotlines in your area. There are some for suicidal thoughts and mental illness. There are also specific hotlines for trans people, women, and LGBT people. Remember, it doesn't have to end like this.