By CINDY POLLOCK

“The pain of severe depression is quite unimaginable to those who have not suffered it, and it kills in many instances because its anguish can no longer be borne. The prevention of so many suicides will continue to be hindered until there is general awareness of the nature of this pain.”

— William Styron, author of “Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness”

I was pleased to read the recent articles by healthcare practitioners on depression in The Beachcomber (Feb. 6). More communication about this medical illness is a necessity. As a society, we need to dispel the belief of so many that depression is a sign of weakness, something a person can cure on his or her own without the help of medical professionals. The stigma associated with depression continues to amaze me, even among well-educated people who have personal experience with the disease.

I come from a family of medical professionals: My father was a psychiatrist and neurologist; my brothers are both physicians; my sister is a psychiatric social worker, and I am a medical writer.

I also come from a family that’s been inordinately struck by mental illness in the form of depression or other mood disorders. My mother attempted suicide with an overdose of pills in her early 40s. My oldest sister died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head at the age of 42. Her daughter, my niece, tried to kill herself at 21 with a deadly combination of over-the-counter medications, prescription pills and liquor. And now, my younger sister, at 42, is slowly but persistently starving herself.

Each one of these relatives knew our family has a genetic disposition to depression, yet not one of them could easily admit they suffered from it. Kay Redfield Jamison, in her wonderful book “An Unquiet Mind,” describes how even she, as a psychiatrist specializing in mood disorders, could not face the brutal truth that she suffered from bipolar disorder (also known as manic depression). It was only when she attempted suicide that she sought help.

Fortunately, my mother and niece eventually got the help they needed and are doing OK today. My younger sister, however, is a ghost of the vivacious, robust, lovely woman I’ve known for so long. This is her third severe depressive episode, and I don’t know if she’ll pull through it. She refuses to see a psychiatrist, sure her symptoms are due to a physical cause, not a disorder of the brain. She has sought the advice of almost every type of medical specialist, except a psychiatrist. Hypochondria has, in fact, long been linked to depression.

“Unwilling to accept its own gathering deterioration, the mind announces to its indwelling consciousness that it is the body, with its perhaps correctable defects, not the precious and irreplaceable mind, that is going haywire,” writes William Styron.

My sister’s husband recently asked me not to keep saying the word “depression” because it makes her think I think she is crazy. Crazy? She is ill. Her pain and her suffering are real, the result of an aberrant process that begins in the neurotransmitters of the brain.

To be honest, though, I imagine this is a kind of craziness. Styron says that depression — “a veritable howling tempest in the brain” — is a form of madness because the brain is in such physical distress. My oldest sister described it like “a whirlwind drawing her in.”

Depression afflicts millions of people directly and millions more who are relatives or friends of victims. I cannot stress enough that if you think you or a loved one is experiencing depression, get medical help right away. The major symptoms of depression include a depressed mood (feeling hopeless, sad, anxious or empty) and a loss of interest or pleasure in hobbies and activities that were once enjoyed. A person may act more apathetic. Many people become uninterested in life.

Through my own personal hell in dealing with this disease, I’ve read widely in both the medical and popular literature. I recently have begun rereading some of these books, searching for answers again, for ways to help my sister, who seems to be looking out at the world with what my mother and I call “faraway eyes.” I know, having lost one sister already to depression, that there is only so much I can do — but I also know that depression is not something to take lightly. The hole that suicide leaves in the lives of a victim’s loved ones never completely heals.

— Cindy Pollock is an Islander whose articles have appeared in several magazines and periodicals.