Consider this: In January 1999, when I was diagnosed with schizophrenia and flooded with delusions that I would be assassinated, I fled my then-girlfriend Barbara's home in Glendale, Calif., and went off on a harrowing trek across L.A.
As soon as it was over, I fled the vehicle.
So it was that I fled an unseasonably cold East Coast winter, and traveled to Disney World to see whether one might have any fun as one.
But when I said, "Help!" and started rattling off the address, he wrenched the phone away, which was when I fled — out to the elevator and down to the building's front steps, where I waited, shuddering, for the cops.
Marial: When I was 15, I fled Sudan.
("I know well what I am fleeing from," he wrote, quoting Montaigne, "but not what I am looking for").
In addition to trying to decide if I'm fleeing the bench, I'm also trying to decide if I can be bought for just a little while, remain satisfied scientifically--monetarily shouldn't be too much of a question--while remaining viable for a research post.
I thought I was fleeing a police state that was never going to get better.
"I think I was fleeing from those places my family lived when I was growing up, all those raw new suburbs".
"Look," she says, "I am not fleeing persecution in Estonia, nor did I come to Scotland for financial reasons.
