I’m sure there’s some biological or anthropological or some other -ology-based reason for society’s incessant need to place people in boxes and to fear what they can’t—or maybe just don’t—understand. Globalization destroyed the boxes of sex, gender and race, and while the world still is struggling with this, certain ideas are starting to sink in: not everyone is just straight or just gay in the same way that you can’t tell where a person is from just by looking at what color their skin is. In this way, people who suffer from mental illness aren’t crazy.

Illnesses like depression and anxiety are legitimate and very serious, warping the daily lives of over 350 million people. But because of the strict societal definition of what constitutes mental health and normalcy, we shy away and retract from people who might be “depressed.” This uneasiness, to an extent, is understandable. Our own emotions are hard enough to deal with when in good health, so when someone’s wiring has gone awry, the dysfunction becomes a difference that we can immediately rename a negative. Suddenly, a taxing topic is made much easier to handle. Subsequently, depression becomes another stereotype. As of now, we have a few general answers to questions that require much more detailed responses, because science doesn’t have a distinct answer. Yet, they say.

Now we’re left with quite the pickle. With this many people suffering and no really efficient or effective form of treatment, how do we help people with a problem we can’t even understand?

The response most popularly used to answer this question is far from the right one. In fact, it couldn’t be farther from a solution. We know that when someone has a cold, you make them tea and toast. We know that RICE is a good go-to treatment for some minor joint discomfort. But when the problem is a chemically-instituted emotional issue, what do we do?

Usually, nothing.

As someone who loves the idea of living so much that a strong coffee could make my whole day, the thought that some people could find so little worthwhile about life not just saddens me, it frightens me. My inner absurdist agrees that there’s most likely no reason for 99.9 percent of the things that happen to us, but I want to experience them regardless of their meaning (or lack thereof). This is why I was speechless when I learned that several of my classmates suffer[ed] from depression. And one of my advisors. And some of my coworkers. And some of my closest friends.

Let’s make one thing clear, I am by no means an expert. I speak from personal experience, and I still have no idea how to adequately help my loved ones. I still don’t completely understand what is even happening to them or how their attempts at treatment will benefit or hinder them. One thing has changed, though, which has brought me incredible humility— I no longer fear those with mental illness.

Mixed with occasional victories, it’s through the tried and failed attempts at helping these people that I discovered some important things about understanding depression. The problem so many people have with dealing with those who are suffering is the fear that they’re “going to say the wrong thing.” This is relatively accurate. At first, all verbal efforts I made at comfort were about as effective as using a spoon to dig a well. The speechlessness I encountered appeared to be my best tool.

There is no way to put people suffering from depression in a box, because the range of emotions humans are capable of is just too complicated for that. When thinking about what might be the “right” or the “wrong” thing to say, there’s no equation to help you come to a conclusion before it’s too late and you’ve made a fool of yourself. Let your loved ones know that you care about them; let them know that you’d do anything to make them feel the warmth of real happiness again; let them know that you aren’t going to be ashamed of them. Positivity isn’t a cure, but erasing “depression” from the list of social taboos is a good place to start. Because hiding and shying away from the people we care about is dastardly. True fortitude is taking their hand and, against all human impetus persuading us to do otherwise, delving into the unknown with them.

Science doesn’t have all of the answers yet. Treatment is at times a frustrating and hit-or-miss process. In spite of these struggles, all we can hope to do is to help our loved ones, our neighbors—each other, really—by making the road to recovery more traversable by letting them know that they will never have to fight alone.