Fear of Insanity Destroyed

I was reared in the so-called orthodox religion. As a member of St. Paul's Episcopal Church at Duluth I attended service regularly and taught in the Sunday School. To me the service was beautiful and dignified; I experienced nowhere else the spiritual uplifting that took possession of me while listening to the chants or reading the Litany. But as I grew older I became more and more conscious of the fact that, in spite of the grandeur of the service, harmony did not prevail; there was very little evidence of brotherly love. I went to other churches and there was the same "inhumanity to man" in a greater or less degree. When I felt myself growing pessimistic, I would reproach myself for beholding the "mote in my brother's eye," and start in with a renewed effort to find the harmony I was seeking.

A year ago last March I was taken ill with typhoid fever; I went to the hospital for treatment. The fever at first was in a very mild form, and in less than four weeks I was supposed to have sufficiently recovered to undergo an operation. This was promptly followed by another run of typhoid fever; then a third siege, each one worse than the preceding. I cannot remember having one pleasant thought during these two relapses. I was constantly being thrown over precipices, would try to walk on water, or would imagine some one was shooting me, or my fingers were being chopped off. I made fruitless efforts to concentrate my mind. A band seemed to be forming around my brain and the hot, heavy, sore feeling at the front of my head threatened to drive me insane. One whole night I lay looking with horror at a pair of scissors on the stand beside me, hoping that I might retain the mental strength to resist the powerful desire to end my life.

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