Part 17

"When I lie waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me they tyrannize, Feare and sorrow me surprise, Whether I tarry still or go, Me thinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so sad as melancholy."

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"I'll not change my life with any King, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, than still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toyes time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see. All my joyes to this are folly, None so divine as melancholy.

"I'll change my state with any wretch Thou canst from goale or dunghill fetch: My pain's past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell, Now desperate I hate my life, Lend me a halter or a knife; All my griefs to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy."

The depressed stage of this disorder is commonly shown by retardation of thought and motion, the excited stage by pressure of activity and acceleration of thought. In the so-called "flight of ideas" words succeed each other with incredible rapidity, without goal idea, but each word suggesting the next by sound or other association, thus:

"Are you blue?"

"Blue, true blue, red white and blue, one flag and one nation, one kingdom, one king, no not one king, one president, we are going to have a president first, cursed, the worst."

Who does not recognize the modest prototype of this elaborate rigmarole chasing itself through his mind as he walks the street in jaunty mood, and who of us would not surprise and alarm his friends if he should suddenly let go his habitual control, express his every thought and materialize his every passing impulse to action? Who can doubt that the person who has trained himself for years to repress his obsessions is less likely to give way to this form of insanity than one who has never practiced such training? Let us then endeavor to pursue "the even tenor of our way" without giving way to the obsession that we must inflict our feelings upon our associates. We may in this way maintain a mental balance that shall stand us in good stead in time of stress.

The autumnal tendency to melancholy is recognized by Thoreau. The characteristic suggestion of this nature-lover is that the melancholic go to the woods and study the symplocarpus foetidus (skunk cabbage), whose English name savors of contempt, but whose courage is such that it is already in the autumn jauntily thrusting forth its buds for the coming year.

An admirable reflection for the victim of moods, as for many another, is the old saying in which Abraham Lincoln is said to have taken peculiar comfort, namely, "This also will pass."

XV.

RECAPITULATORY

And found no end in wandering mazes lost.

Paradise Lost.

We have reviewed the various phases of worry and the elements out of which worry is assembled. It has been seen that exaggerated self-consciousness blocks effort through fear of criticism, ridicule or comment. The insistent habit of mind in the worrier has been found to permeate the content of thought, and unfavorably to influence action. The fact has been pointed out that the obsession to do the right thing may be carried so far as to produce querulous doubt and chronic indecision--hence worry.

It has been pointed out that over-anxiety on the score of health (hypochondria) aggravates existing symptoms, and itself develops symptoms; that these symptoms in turn increase the solicitude which gave them birth. Attention has been called to the influence of over-anxious and fretful days in precluding the restful state of mind that favors sleep, and to the influence of the loss of sleep upon the anxieties of the following day; in other words, worry prevents sleep, and inability to sleep adds to worry.

We have seen that doubts of fitness lead to unfitness, and that the worry of such doubts, combined with futile regrets for the past and forebodings for the future, hamper the mind which should be cleared for present action.

The injurious effect upon the nervous system of these faulty mental states has been emphasized, together with their influence as potent underlying causes of so-called nervous prostration, preparing the worrier for breakdown from an amount of work which, if undertaken with tranquil mind, could have been accomplished with comparative ease.

The question is, will the possessor of these faulty mental tendencies grasp the importance of giving thought to the training that shall free him from the incubus? He certainly has the intelligence, for it is among the intelligent that these states are mostly found; he certainly has the will-power, for lack of will-power is not a failing of the obsessed. The question is, can he bring himself to make, at the suggestion of another, a fundamental change of attitude, and will he take these suggestions on faith, though many seem trivial, others, perhaps, unreasonable, and will he at least give them a trial? I hope so.

In the next sections will be summed up such commonplace and simple suggestions as may aid emergence from the maze of worry. Many of the suggestions have been scattered through preceding sections. The worrier and folly-doubter is more likely to be benefited by trying them than by arguing about them, and it is within the realms of possibility that some may come to realize the truth of the paradox that he who loses himself shall find himself.

XVI.

MAXIMS MISAPPLIED

"Beware! yet once again beware! Ere round thy inexperienced mind, With voice and semblance falsely fair, A chain Thessalian magic bind,--"

Thomas Love Peacock.

A friend of mine has a highbred Boston terrier named "Betty." Betty is a bundle of nerves, has a well-developed "New-England Conscience," and among other deviative (not degenerative) signs is possessed of an insatiate desire to climb trees. More than once I have watched her frantic efforts to achieve this end, and she really almost succeeds--at least she can reach a higher point on the trunk of a tree than any other dog of her size I know--say six feet; if the bark is rough, perhaps seven feet would not be an overestimate. Her attempts are unremitting--once the frenzy is on it is with the greatest difficulty that she can be separated, panting and exhausted, from her task.

Betty's case furnishes an illustration of an inborn tendency, fostered neither by precept nor example, persistently to attempt the impossible, and to fret and fume when forced to discontinue. Some children are by inheritance similarly endowed. Imagine Betty a child. It is safe to assume that the mental trait which prompts this expenditure of tireless and misdirected energy has sifted down through her ancestry; the chances are, of course, against its having skipped the generation immediately preceding; in other words, one or both her parents are probably obsessive. It follows almost as a matter of course that the "indomitable will" of the child is viewed with pride by the parent. Instead of being kept within reasonable bounds, and directed into proper channels, it is encouraged in every direction, and fostered by every available means. Prominent among the incentives to renewed activity furnished by the solicitous parent, possibly by the undiscriminating teacher, will be found such precepts as: "In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such word as fail," "Never give up the ship," "Never say die," "There's always room at the top."

Excellent maxims these, for the average child, particularly for the child who is under average as regards ambition to excel. But what of their effect upon the already over-conscientious and self-exacting child? Simply to tighten fetters which should rather be relaxed.

Life becomes a serious problem to a child of this kind at a much earlier age than is generally realized. I have been surprised to learn at what tender years such children have been borne down by a weight of self-imposed responsibility quite as heavy as can burden an adult, without the power of the adult to carry it. Such, for example, are anxieties regarding the health or the financial status of the parents, matters freely discussed without a thought that the child will make these cares his own.