The Lady Vanishes
I said I would write about my vanishing act before I go back to the Frehel Diaries. The last two weeks I have been fighting that horrible black depression of mine topped occasionally with physical troubles. Last week my arthritis was so bad, I could barely make it up the subway stairs to get home from work. I'm 33 years old and unmarried. The odds of me finding a husband in this condition is none to none. And if you think that my oh so rewarding teacher is going to keep me from topping myself, a brief look over the work my classes hand in is more likely to make me feel like dying than living.

When I get in these moods, truly black depressions filled with the desire to kill myself or others, I tend to vanish. I don't return phone calls or emails. I avoid contact. Some times for months. Friends take it personally. I get calls and emails inquiring if they have offended or if I'm still alive. I assure them as it's not them, it's not personal. My vanishing acts are, if anything, an attempt to protect those close to me. In these moods, I tend to have uncharitable thoughts about everyone, and avoid others lest in my darkest moods I utter some of these unutterable thoughts.

I wish I had some great thoughts on this, some beautiful piece of literature to offer. All I can say is that when I vanish it's not that you have driven me away, but it's my fear of doing something to drive you away.

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