A Mind That Found Itself | Page 5

feeling of apprehension, for a single
failure in an attempt to speak will stagger any man, no matter what his state of health. I
tried to copy certain records in the day's work, but my hand was too unsteady, and I
found it difficult to read the words and figures presented to my tired vision in blurred
confusion.

That afternoon, conscious that some terrible calamity was impending, but not knowing
what would be its nature, I performed a very curious act. Certain early literary efforts
which had failed of publication in the college paper, but which I had jealously cherished
for several years, I utterly destroyed. Then, after a hurried arrangement of my affairs, I
took an early afternoon train, and was soon in New Haven. Home life did not make me
better, and, except for three or four short walks, I did not go out of the house at all until
June 23d, when I went in a most unusual way. To relatives I said little about my state of
health, beyond the general statement that I had never felt worse--a statement which, when
made by a neurasthenic, means much, but proves little. For five years I had had my ups
and downs, and both my relatives and myself had begun to look upon these as things
which would probably be corrected in and by time.
The day after my home-coming I made up my mind, or that part of it which was still
within my control, that the time had come to quit business entirely and take a rest of
months. I even arranged with a younger brother to set out at once for some quiet place in
the White Mountains, where I hoped to steady my shattered nerves. At this time I felt as
though in a tremor from head to foot, and the thought that I was about to have an
epileptic attack constantly recurred. On more than one occasion I said to friends that I
would rather die than live an epileptic; yet, if I rightly remember, I never declared the
actual fear that I was doomed to bear such an affliction. Though I held the mad belief that
I should suffer epilepsy, I held the sane hope, amounting to belief, that I should escape it.
This fact may account, in a measure, for my six years of endurance.
On the 18th of June I felt so much worse that I went to my bed and stayed there until the
23d. During the night of the 18th my persistent dread became a false belief--a delusion.
What I had long expected I now became convinced had at last occurred. I believed myself
to be a confirmed epileptic, and that conviction was stronger than any ever held by a
sound intellect. The half-resolve, made before my mind was actually impaired, namely,
that I would kill myself rather than live the life I dreaded, now divided my attention with
the belief that the stroke had fallen. From that time my one thought was to hasten the end,
for I felt that I should lose the chance to die should relatives find me in an attack of
epilepsy.
Considering the state of my mind and my inability at that time to appreciate the enormity
of such an end as I half contemplated, my suicidal purpose was not entirely selfish. That I
had never seriously contemplated suicide is proved by the fact that I had not provided
myself with the means of accomplishing it, despite my habit, has long been remarked by
my friends, of preparing even for unlikely contingencies. So far as I had the control of my
faculties, it must be admitted that I deliberated; but, strictly speaking, the rash act which
followed cannot correctly be called an attempt at suicide--for how can a man who is not
himself kill himself?
Soon my disordered brain was busy with schemes for death. I distinctly remember one
which included a row on Lake Whitney, near New Haven. This I intended to take in the
most unstable boat obtainable. Such a craft could be easily upset, and I should so
bequeath to relatives and friends a sufficient number of reasonable doubts to rob my
death of the usual stigma. I also remember searching for some deadly drug which I hoped

to find about the house. But the quantity and quality of what I found were not such as I
dared to trust. I then thought of severing my jugular vein, even going so far as to test
against my throat the edge of a razor which, after the deadly impulse first asserted itself, I
had secreted in a convenient place. I really wished to die, but so uncertain and ghastly a
method did not appeal to me. Nevertheless, had I felt sure that