Depression: the illness that sucks the life out of victims

These were the words of a mother whose daughter had hanged herself on the day the tuition fees to the university where she studied were due. On that day, her parents could not come up with the money. Those words were the mother's answer to a question from the host of a TV programme: "If your daughter were listening, what would you say to her?"

Hers were the words of love - true, unconditional and raw - that came out of her shattered heart. She could have asked "Why?" had she loved her little girl less.

On the morning of that fateful day, the student had tried to rationalise. She told her mother that she understood, and could wait. Things might be better next year. But in her mind, things would never get better. Money had always been short. College, she must have concluded, would ultimately be out of reach; it just was not meant to be.

With that realisation, the thin line between life and death became irrelevant, and disappeared for good.

The television programme brought in a psychologist to explain why. Depression, he said, was the culprit. He suggested several ways to prevent this. One is for parents to teach their children not to entertain high hopes. Parents, he said, should teach their children to just take it easy, to adopt a "whatever-will-be" attitude.

I did not blame the young psychologist for oversimplifying the depression issue. Time and space always represent the limitation when it comes to communicating. But I did not think he knew what depression was. Take a simpler case - hunger. One can come up with all kinds of ways to explain the state of being hungry. But it's all academic; no one can truly know what hunger is unless and until it is experienced. The same goes with depression - it takes a sufferer to know it.

I recalled the time in my thirties when I was on assignment as a reporter to a National Convention of the Democratic Party in New York. Political conventions are always pompous, boisterous, high-octane events, with a mother-lode of pins, banners, confetti and alcohol. There are lots of colourful and uniquely interesting people who we would normally not imagine meeting in our everyday mundane lives. There are numerous events that take place concurrently over the three days; so many, one will begin to understand the Random Theory of time.

For three days, I went about doing my job. I was lonely among the huge crowd, yet I did not try to reach out. I tried hard to stay engaged, but found myself losing interest in it all. For the first time, I could not comprehend why and how people could smile.

After the convention, I went on with my life, not being consciously aware that I was particularly miserable. It was like a "black hole" kept gnawing at me and engulfed my being. I felt disconnected from everything and everyone that used to matter. Getting up and being motivated became a challenge. At that time, I could understand in my heart, not my head, why people could choose death over life. Nothing could be emptier than the existence in that black hole.

I went to see a doctor for what I described as ulcer symptoms. After tests and questions, my doctor declared that I did not have an ulcer. "You have depression." It was the first time I learned that the black hole had a name.

The ensuing months were probably the most difficult time. I finally got back into the light; but I cannot forget that dark place. There would be times in my life again when I knew I was teetering on the edge, and I would do something about it so as not to stumble back into that black hole.

Depression has been an enigma and stigma for a very long time in many societies. The causes and cures are not completely understood. Progress is made through trial and error, some of which is torturous. When Colin Powell came under consideration as a possible Republican presidential candidate, the smear machine started up. Rumours spread like wildfire that his wife once suffered from depression. This supposedly rendered him unfit to run for office.

Powell called a press conference in which he opened a window on depression for many. He said it was a health issue, just like hypertension and coronary disease. And like many other diseases, depression could be treated, and people could fully recover. It was, he said, nothing to be ashamed of.

Several public figures have come out in recent years to raise awareness of depression. Among them are Mike Wallace of "60 Minutes" and Art Buchwald, the legendary columnist well known for his sense of humour. He made people laugh at a time his heart found no reason to do so.

Many who suffer from depression do not live to tell the story. The first deputy counsel to President Clinton, Vince Foster, after finishing a meeting at the White House one sunny afternoon, told his colleagues he was going out for lunch. He drove to a park in Virginia, parked the car, and pulled the trigger. His family and close friends had not noticed anything wrong with him before that day. He left no note.

Not every suicide is caused by depression, and not every depression ends up in suicide. Depression can mean different things to different people. The common trait is a sense of joylessness and hopelessness. Some survive to learn the frailty of human life, and they learn humility.

So, contrary to what the doctor said on that television programme, setting one's hopes too high does not induce depression. It is rather the absence of hope that does.

You may ask, if it is so dark in there, why not try the light switch?

In that black hole, there is no switch. Somebody has to reach down and pull you up. That is, if there is someone who cares, and, more importantly, someone who knows how.