I think the hardest part has changed for me over the years. I've been depressed for as long as I can remember. The poem "Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe has always struck a cord with me... particularly the fact that it starts with "from childhood's hour I have not been as others were". Even as a child I remember being depressed, you know? I wasn't diagnosed until I was 12, but as early as about 7 or 8, I remember feeling different from my siblings and my peers. An almost empty feeling. And for much of my life, that emptiness was the worst part. It was like being severely dehydrated and being handed a cup full of water, but when you try to drink from the cup, you find that the water is gone already and you can never satiate your thirst. The emptiness made it hard to relate to anyone, to understand anyone, to connect with anyone. But the emptiness isn't the worst part anymore, because I've filled the emptiness. Some of us, I guess, do learn to fill it with things that are not bad. Instead of filling it with addictions, some of us do eventually manage to fill it with careers, hobbies, people.

And I did. I found a great guy, who loves me despite my depression (who battles his own demons, in fact). A guy who loves me for me, who holds me when I'm having a mental breakdown, who rubs my back and kisses my head and tells me that I'll be okay. I found him, and we had a beautiful baby girl. And I filled the emptiness. I'm happy with them, happier than I've ever been. But I'm still depressed. And the worst part now is not being able to understand why I'm still depressed. The worst part is feeling like I should be happy all the time, but finding myself crying sometimes when I'm all alone. It's looking at my baby girl, and being afraid of failing her. It's sitting on the couch with her on my lap, wondering if I'll repeat my father's mistake. Fearing that thought. It's fearing every thought that crosses my mind. The worst part is feeling so happy that it only worsens the depression because I feel guilty that it's still there in the first place.

Above all, the worst part is the realization that it may last forever. That it may be treatment resistant since it's been with me this long. The realization that my mom's has lasted forever, and that every single life change has triggered it. And maybe I'll be the same way. The worst part is the fear, definitely the fear. The fear that it will be a demon I can never run from, the fear that it will hurt my daughter, or my fiance, or my dog. The fear that I will become my mother thirty years from now. Alone, with only dogs to keep me company, an empty nest, and depression rearing its ugly head once more.