Found: Written before the death:

Everything is wrong. Depression has reached that plateau where it becomes acceptable, palatable, and expected. It wraps you like a blanket and you take it for what it's worth. You don’t want to get up in the morning and that is okay. Dad is dying and the reality has hit the wall. I understand but only to an unexplainable extent. We’ve gone through everything. Scares and near deaths. What else is there? This is life and it will never change because shit will only get worse. In love with sadness. The blinding glimmer of hope.