-
I finally talked myself into going in to see Dad.
I took him to Starbucks and we’ve been sitting here for about twenty minutes, not saying much (he, at least, has an excuse), and now I’m hiding in the bathroom, typing this, wondering how honest I should be with him about how depressed I am. On one hand, it might help explain why I’ve been so shitty at quality time lately, and on the other, generationally he might just not get it. Depression wasn’t something his generation acknowledged, let alone talked about, and I don’t know if he’ll be able to take my explanation in and process it, not because I think his intellectual capacity is diminished, but because I know him, and I know he doesn’t really go in for all that “people have feelings” bullshit. I don’t know what to do.
