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