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2004-09-07 - 2:32 p.m.

Due to a spot of self-examination, I conclude that Dad is a depressed personality.

It's something that never really occurred to me as a child, to ever question why he was doing what he was doing. If Dad was off, or Dad didn't want to talk to me, or Dad had been playing internet spades for 11 hours straight, or Dad hadn't left his bedroom all weekend, it was because he was upset with me, or really tired, or just reclusive by nature, (that he is.)

Or maybe this is something that I have always known, but had just never stopped to pull it out of the mess and take a look at it in my hands. When I was younger, and a doctor wanted to prescribe me a pill, dad told mom, who was pro-medication, that 'some people are just sad, and Rachael is sad, so just let her go through this, please.' Or when he told me that he knew how I felt; 'colors aren't as bright, food doesn't taste as good, I know.' Why did I never assume that he understood because he felt the same way?

I've resigned myself to this base level of depression as my status quo. Sometimes it is much worse, sometimes it is much better, but I feel most like me when I am indifferent towards life in general. I am assured that this is something entirely medical, and chemical, and modern medical science is here to rescue me. Tomorrow they will probably try to give me a pill, and I have reached the point where I have to seriously question whether this is something that I should have to live with until I am dead. I'm convinced that the true (Dad, Jeremy, Noah, Rachael) Jensen's live with depression in varying degrees, whether they realize it or not. If Dad still lives with it, it's not going away. I don't feel good about either of my options. Take it and feel terrible about it, don't take it and feel mostly terrible in general.

Tell me what to do, pap.