The darkness surrounds me, swirling through my head like a hurricane. Thoughts, so many of them, crowd together, becoming one long movie that I can't stop from playing. It is as though every single mistake, regret, upset, and wrong turn have banded together, determined to remind me of one thing--that I am imperfect.

I am a failure in a world full of perfection. I am scarred, more so emotionally than anything else. In these moments, the tears fall without hesitation. The paths they carve down my face burn, leaving trails of disappointment and pain. Each drop is a reminder that I am failing. I am drowning. My sobs are muffled, contained by a pillow that has become flattened and tattered from punches that I could no longer control. I scream, but I am uncertain if it actually escaped from my mouth, or if it was just in my head. In these moments I am alone. I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet, and the door slowly swings open. My daughter walks in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, while quietly whispering, "Mama?" I quickly dry my tears, and put on the biggest smile I can. She cannot see me like this -- not today. Not ever.

Depression is not a phase. It is not something that you can just "get over", like a summer cold in the middle of June. It is real. It is a battle. It is a way of life for so many. Unfortunately, society has trained us to view this as a weakness, another "excuse" for unpleasant behavior. We are not trained to realize that this is real. It is a struggle, a daunting reality for so many people. Not everyone wins the battle. Not everyone can break the cycle. Not everyone gets out alive.

Depression is not just tears, sadness and sad music. It encompasses so many aspects. There are days where I want to do nothing more than curl up on my bed and shut out the world.The thought of dealing with society causes a panic attack that leaves me drained. However, I get up. I have mastered the art of "fake it til you make it." I have become the captain of my storm-tossed ship. I manage to get up, get dressed, and plaster on a smile. I go on, nobody knowing the pain that I hide. I had a rough childhood, followed by the sudden and unexpected death of my husband. On top of that, I was four months postpartum from giving birth to our daughter. Throw a severe case of PTSD on top of all that, and it's surprising that I haven't ended up with a mental breakdown.

I have learned that depression makes others uncomfortable. They do not know how to deal with it, so they berate the affected person. The depressed persons are made to believe that somehow they are "doing it wrong", and that there is something completely wrong with their thought process. I can't begin to count the times I have used the phrase "I'm fine" when, in all reality, inside I am dying. There is a constant knot in my stomach that I have become accustomed to feeling. I fight waves of panic; instead of breaking down in gut-wrenching sobs, I overcompensate by laughing louder, smiling more, and talking faster. I cope with the agonizing mental pain by refusing to acknowledge its presence. Instead I find anything I can to keep my mind occupied.

However, when those moments hit, they do hit hard. Those moments when I am driving alone, and a song comes on that brings back a memory. I am suddenly hit with a wave of emotions. Nothing can prepare me for these moments. At night, when the day is winding down and I am preparing to sleep, my mind instantly begins a marathon of thoughts. Painful memories of friendships gone wrong, memories of mistakes that I had to pay for, and the ever-present thoughts of what will never be. Nights are the worst by far. Dracula and I have a common denominator -- the dark. While he relishes in the blackness, I am frightened. I am frightened by what my mind will remind me of. I am frightened of the cold realities that I am forced to replay, night after night. I am frightened by the fact that, in those moments, I am at the mercy of my mind -- and it can be ruthless.

A light shines in the blackness when I remember my daughter. Her beautiful smile the beacon of hope that keeps me sane. When her daddy died, there were so many times that I just did not want to live anymore. I wanted to give up, something I have never done in my life. Then, I looked at her face. She gave me a strength I didn't think I had in me. In these moments, when the darkness is suffocating me, I force myself to remember her. I force my mind to replay the moment I first laid eyes on her -- our gazes connecting in the most powerful moment in my (almost) thirty years of life. I force myself to remember that she is looking up to me. She is counting on me to show her the way of life. She, in her (almost) two years on this Earth, has always counted on mama. I can't let her down. I won't let her down.

I will battle this demon. I will win. It is not a fun road. As a matter of fact, it is the most difficult struggle I will ever face. I will not let it get the best of me. Even when the night falls, as Dracula knows, the sun will shine again. Thankfully, I will be there to see it.