On being not well

Depression is not a treatable malady. Ok, maybe medically it is, but it isn't one sanctioned by care groups or kind hearted people. They, the kind hearted, don't know what to do with someone who is depressed. Someone in that state shatters their peace. Confuses their set of cause and effect rules to live by. Let a woman announce she is pregnant and terribly sick with morning sickness, and they bring meals for the rest of the family. Hear of someone breaking a limb? Ladies dive in to do laundry for the household. Lose a job, invite them over for dinner so it helps lighten the burden on their finances. Maybe get them some money from the church, too. Move? An Army of folks show up to pack up and/or unpack the house, or both. Let someone declare that they are depressed, however, and everyone says they'll pray, and they probably do, and then they keep their distance. Someone who is depressed, after all, is a mystery and a drag. Especially if that person has little in their life that would construe them to be down in the dumps. From the outside everything seems to be in shape:  Job? Check. Health? Check. Marriage in tact? Check. Good kids? Check. Bills paid? Check. Nice house? Check. What would anyone do for someone like that, anyway. There really isn't anything, I guess.