Not a very joyful Easter

Not a very joyful Easter this year. I am weighed down, way down, way down past depression, and into suicidal ideation range. Taking large doses of testosterone helps. At least, it can get me up and moving, but nothing can replace the lost starter wire, spark plug, and engine chug that allowed my brain to think, focus, penetrate, and connect. I am a little bit worried, because it looks like this next week is going to be really intense, and I am severely handicapped by the negative and stymied mental and emotional state that I am currently in. I have to drag to do anything at all. Nothing for it. I cannot drive a car that has no fuel. The excess female hormones totally collapse my world into a semi-psychotic nothingness--not the fecund nothingness of the spirit and contemplation, which opens one up to the fullness of reality and relationship, but the nothingness of psychosis. It is a struggle just to live these days.

Think I was abducted again last night. Woke up once more with no feeling function whatsoever. Very hard to read and assess without it. Desire, holy desire, is what keeps me motivated and it is gone, totally gone. Interesting thing, though, is they did something to my nose--like broke and reset it. The cartilage is feeling funning and way too malleable. As many times as it has had probes stuck up it, God only knows what is wrong. I cannot bear to look at myself in the mirror. Even my face no longer looks like it belongs to me.