A few years back, I was checking in with a lawyer suffering from chronic depression. I suspected he was suicidal. Every day on the way home from work he went through a McDonald's drive thru, bought a soda and fries, and sat in his car in the parking lot, delaying going home. Just frozen. Stuck. Just sat staring out the windshield at nothing in particular. That routine - the drive thru, parking, avoiding going home - that's common behavior among those chronically depressed who have suicidal ideations.
When he called, he'd call from that parking lot. I had pieced together which McDonald's from the various calls. During one of the calls, he sounded at peace, but not in a good way. In a resigned, ready to check out way.
I kept him on the phone as I drove over to the McDonald's. I was right about which one he was at. And when I came onto his vehicle and peered through the driver seat's window, and saw what was on his lap, my first random thought was - I didn't think you could still buy a revolver. I assumed everything was semi-automatics. That was the random thought that came to mind.
We talked. His brother got him. Took the gun. He got help. These years later, he's doing ok. Not perfect. Not great. But he's doing ok. Still getting help. Sometimes depression is just something you live with indefinitely.
The thing with depression, if someone who is behaving in a depressed manner suddenly seems fine, actually seems really good, often they're not, and their smile and laugh and friendliness may be a sign of resignation. Like, hell, I'm going out on my own terms. Trust your instincts. If you think someone needs help, help them get help. You may be the only who notices in time to make a difference.