Between twenty and thirty years ago, I became involved in a series
of occurrences and conditions of so painful and distressing a
character that for over six months I was unable to sleep more than
one or two hours out of the twenty-four. In common parlance I was
"worrying myself to death," when, mercifully, a total collapse of
mind and body came. My physicians used the polite euphemism of
"cerebral congestion" to describe my state which, in reality, was
one of temporary insanity, and it seemed almost hopeless that I
should ever recover my health and poise. For several months I
hovered between life and death, and my brain between reason and
unreason. In due time, however, both health and mental poise came
back in reasonable measure, and I asked myself what would be the
result if I returned to the condition of worry that culminated in
the disaster. This question and my endeavors at its solution led to
the gaining of a degree of philosophy which materially changed my
attitude toward life. Though some of the chief causes of my past
worry were removed there were still enough adverse and untoward
circumstances surrounding me to give me cause for worry, if I
allowed myself to yield to it, so I concluded that my mind must
positively and absolutely be prohibited from dwelling upon those
things that seemed justification for worry.
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