I finally put my thumb on it. I figured out what happened that started my current downward spiral. I wrote about it at one point late last year in a document on my desktop called "hopeless". I even published it to my blog for a time before deleting it from there. It takes a lot for me to delete a blog post, but there was so much anger there. Too much, and too widely swashed around. Sloshed? Is swashed a word?

Anyway, two major heart crushes happened in 2015. I was really sad after the first one, but the second one changed me. Changed me in a way that I can't get back. I lost my hope. Apparently, I lost all of it. I've always felt that hope was my worst enemy, because no matter how upset or depressed I get, it's always there, tormenting me. But not any more. It's just gone. And apparently, after that I just kind of withered away.

I was going to talk about the appointment with Dr. Bess, but I can't right now. I just don't fucking care enough. Apparently there is some hope in me, because I'm going to have these procedures. I'm going to shock myself into better health. Things are extreme when you have to introduce an electrical current to your body to feel better.

Let's do this, here is an excerpt from my Letter of Surrender, otherwise titled Hopeless.txt:

I've never quite understood the phrase "to wear your heart on your sleeve". Oh, I know what it means, but why your sleeve? Wouldn't it make more sense if your heart was visible on your chest? If your love was tattooed on your forehead? Telegraphed through your handshake?

I've always worn my heart... on the outside. If I care about you, I let you know. If I love you, I've said it. If I have a crush on you, it's been in my fierce blush and my wide eyes and my hushed stammer.

It may be difficult to guess what I'm thinking about, to understand my passions and nightmares, but I've never really been able to mask my heart.

And I'm not going to change that.

But I thought maybe someone should know that there has been a change, nonetheless. Somewhere it should be noted that things have finally gone too far. Life has trampled on me and my pathetic little heart a few dozen times too many.

It's been some time since anyone has reached in my chest, torn out my heart, thrown it on the ground and stomped all over it. But it's familiar. Very familiar. But what You have done to my heart this time was so subtle, I've hardly noticed it.

I've run out of hope. It's left the building. Flown out a window?

One thing I've always had is hope. I've cursed it, actually. It's a vile thing when you are on the ground and someone is kicking you in the face and you still feel some hope that you will see the sun again. You'll still have snow days and cat cuddles and brownies and music and art and forests and beaches. There might even be a nice person or three to walk beside you from time to time. Wow, I can even imagine another person to hold my hand, maybe even to help pick my heart up off the slaughterhouse floor.

But that left some time ago. The last one out the door turned off the light and snatched my heart and my hope and discarded them outside somewhere that I can't even begin to think where to find them now.