Stammering, Its Cause and Cure | Page 8

this mail order man a large sum of
money. In return for this I was furnished with instructions to do a
number of useless things, such as holding toothpicks between my teeth,
talking through my nose, whistling before I spoke a word, and many
other foolish things. It was at this time that I learned once and for all,
the imprudence of throwing money away on these mail order "cures,"
so-called, and I made up my mind to bother no more with this man and
his kind.
So far as the mail order instructions were concerned, they were crude
and unscientific--merely a hodge-podge of pseudo-technical
phraseology and crass ignorance--a meaningless jargon scarcely
intelligible to the most highly educated, and practically impossible of
interpretation by the average stammerer who was supposed to follow
the course. Even after I had, by persistent effort, interpreted the
instructions and followed them closely for many months, there was not
a sign of the slightest relief from my trouble. It was evident to me even

then that I could never cure myself by following a mail cure.
Today, after twenty-eight years of experience in the cure of stammering,
I can say with full authority, that stammering cannot be successfully
treated by mail. The very nature of the difficulty, as well as the method
of treatment, make it impossible to put the instructions into print or to
have the stammerer follow out the method from a printed sheet.
As I approached manhood, my impediment began to get worse. My
stuttering changed to stammering. Instead of rapidly repeating syllables
or words, I was unable to begin a word. I stood transfixed, my limbs
drawing themselves into all kinds of unnatural positions. There were
violent spasmodic movements of the head, and contractions of my
whole body. The muscles of my throat would swell, affecting the
respiratory organs, and causing a curious barking sound. When I finally
got started, I would utter the first part of the sentence slowly, gradually
increase the speed, and make a rush toward the end.
At other times, when attempting to speak, my lips would pucker up,
firmly set together, and I would be unable to separate them, until my
breath was exhausted. Then I would gasp for more breath, struggling
with the words I desired to speak, until the veins of my forehead would
swell, my face would become red, and I would sink back, wholly
unable to express myself, and usually being obliged to resort to writing.
These paroxysms left me extremely nervous and in a seriously
weakened condition. After one of these attacks, the cold perspiration
would break out on my forehead in great beads and I would sink into
the nearest chair, where I would be compelled to remain until I had
regained my strength.
My affliction was taking all my energy, sapping my strength,
deadening my mental faculties, and placing me at a hopeless
disadvantage in every way. I could do nothing that other people did. I
appeared unnatural. I was nervous, irritable, despondent. This
despondency now brought about a peculiar condition. I began to
believe that everyone was more or less an enemy of mine. And still
worse, I came to believe that I was an enemy of myself, which feeling

threw me into despair, the depths of which I do not wish to recall, even
now.
I was not only miserably unhappy myself, I made everyone else around
me unhappy, although I did it, not intentionally, but because my
affliction had caused me to lose control of myself.
In this condition, my nerves were strained to the breaking point all day
long, and many a night I can remember crying myself to sleep--crying
purely to relieve that stored-up nervous tension, and f ailing off to sleep
as a result of exhaustion.
As I said before, there were periods of grace when the trouble seemed
almost to vanish and I would be delighted to believe that perhaps it was
gone forever--happy hope! But it was but a delusion, a mirage in the
distance, a new road to lead me astray. The affliction always returned,
as every stammerer knows--returned worse than before. All the hopes
that I would outgrow my trouble, were found to be false hopes. For me,
there was no such thing as outgrowing it and I have since discovered
that after the age of six only one-fifth of one per cent. ever outgrow the
trouble.
Another thing which I always thought peculiar when I was a stammerer
was the fact that I had practically no difficulty in talking to animals
when I was alone with them. I remember very well that we had a large
bulldog called Jim, which I was very fond of. I used to believe that Jim
understood my troubles better than any friend I had,