To escape from this misery, I no longer went to bed. I sat down to
read by the light of my lamp, but I could comprehend nothing, and
soon I found that I was even unable to think. I next tried to copy
something, but still copied something different from what I was
writing, always recurring to the subject of my afflictions. If I
retired to rest, it was worse; I could lie in no position; I became
convulsed, and was constrained to rise. In case I slept, the same
visions reappeared, and made me suffer much more than I did by
keeping awake. My prayers, too, were feeble and ineffectual; and,
at length, I could simply invoke the name of the Deity; of the Being
who had assumed a human form, and was acquainted with grief. I was
afraid to sleep; my prayers seemed to bring me no relief; my
imagination became excited, and, even when awake, I heard strange
noises close to me, sometimes sighs and groans, at others mingled
with sounds of stifled laughter. I was never superstitious, but
these apparently real and unaccountable sights and sounds led me to
doubt, and I then firmly believed that I was the victim of some
unknown and malignant beings. Frequently I took my light, and made
a search for those mockers and persecutors of my waking and sleeping
hours. At last they began to pull me by my clothes, threw my books
upon the ground, blew out my lamp, and even, as it seemed, conveyed
me into another dungeon. I would then start to my feet, look and
examine all round me, and ask myself if I were really mad. The
actual world, and that of my imagination, were no longer
distinguishable, I knew not whether what I saw and felt was a
delusion or truth. In this horrible state I could only repeat one
prayer, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"