A Mind That Found Itself | Page 6

in my tremulous frenzy I
could accomplish the act with skilful dispatch, I should at once have ended my troubles.
My imaginary attacks were now recurring with distracting frequency, and I was in
constant fear of discovery. During these three or four days I slept scarcely at all--even the
medicine given to induce sleep having little effect. Though inwardly frenzied, I gave no
outward sign of my condition. Most of the time I remained quietly in bed. I spoke but
seldom. I had practically, though not entirely, lost the power of speech; but my almost
unbroken silence aroused no suspicions as to the seriousness of my condition.
By a process of elimination, all suicidal methods but one had at last been put aside. On
that one my mind now centred. My room was on the fourth floor of the house--one of a
block of five--in which my parents lived. The house stood several feet back from the
street. The sills of my windows were a little more than thirty feet above the ground.
Under one was a flag pavement, extending from the house to the front gate. Under the
other was a rectangular coal-hole covered with an iron grating. This was surrounded by
flagging over a foot in width; and connecting it and the pavement proper was another flag.
So that all along the front of the house, stone or iron filled a space at no point less than
two feet in width. It required little calculation to determine how slight the chance of
surviving a fall from either of those windows.
About dawn I arose. Stealthily I approached a window, pushed open the blinds, and
looked out--and down. Then I closed the blinds as noiselessly as possible and crept back
to bed: I had not yet become so irresponsible that I dared to take the leap. Scarcely had I
pulled up the covering when a watchful relative entered my room, drawn thither perhaps
by that protecting prescience which love inspires. I thought her words revealed a
suspicion that she had heard me at the window, but speechless as I was I had enough
speech to deceive her. For of what account are Truth and Love when Life itself has
ceased to seem desirable?
The dawn soon hid itself in the brilliancy of a perfect June day. Never had I seen a
brighter--to look at; never a darker--to live through--or a better to die upon. Its very
perfection and the songs of the robins, which at that season were plentiful in the
neighborhood, served but to increase my despair and make me the more willing to die. As
the day wore on, my anguish became more intense, but I managed to mislead those about
me by uttering a word now and then, and feigning to read a newspaper, which to me,
however, appeared an unintelligible jumble of type. My brain was in a ferment. It felt as
if pricked by a million needles at white heat. My whole body felt as though it would be
torn apart by the terrific nervous strain under which I labored.
Shortly after noon, dinner having been served, my mother entered the room and asked me
if she should bring me some dessert. I assented. It was not that I cared for the dessert; I
had no appetite. I wished to get her out of the room, for I believed myself to be on the

verge of another attack. She left at once. I knew that in two or three minutes she would
return. The crisis seemed at hand. It was now or never for liberation. She had probably
descended one of three flights of stairs when, with the mad desire to dash my brains out
on the pavement below, I rushed to that window which was directly over the flag walk.
Providence must have guided my movements, for in some otherwise unaccountable way,
on the very point of hurling myself out bodily, I chose to drop feet foremost instead. With
my fingers I clung for a moment to the sill. Then I let go. In falling my body turned so as
to bring my right side toward the building. I struck the ground a little more than two feet
from the foundation of the house, and at least three to the left of the point from which I
started. Missing the stone pavement by not more than three or four inches, I struck on
comparatively soft earth. My position must have been almost upright, for both heels
struck the ground squarely. The concussion slightly crushed one heel bone and broke
most of the small bones in the arch of each foot, but there was no mutilation of the flesh.
As my feet struck the ground my right hand struck hard against the front of the