Modern medicine made unprecedented progress. Brand new illnesses poised for the anticipated pounce, some had mutated to life on their own accord, others were developed for tactical purposes, but quite a few cued among them were well-tried old syndromes that had hardly been considered illnesses in their own right. One of these was Mental Immune Deficiency, formerly referred to as love.
I have little time for notions of repression and sublimation, for symbols of the unconscious or the subconscious. I have no wish to be autopsied while I am still alive. Let what I am remain private, whole, and mysterious. Let it continue to yield sufferings and joys uncomprehended. And when I die may it all be destroyed, like an unopened letter.