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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
43
Walked
in
the
country.
Coming
home,
terrified
by
a
really
violent
attack
of
palpitation.
Almost
every
one
I
met
I
thought
would
be
the
unfortunate
person
who
would
have
to
pick
me
up.
As
each
one
in
the
street
approached
me,
I
weighed
him
in
the
balance
and
considered
if
he
had
presence
of
mind
and
how
he
would
render
first
aid.
After
my
friend,
P.C.
----,
had
passed,
I
felt
sorry
that
the
tragedy
had
not
already
happened,
for
he
knows
me
and
where
I
live.
At
length,
after
sundry
leanings
over
the
river
wall,
arrived
at
the
Library,
which
I
entered,
and
sat
down,
when
the
full
force
of
the
palpitation
was
immediately
felt.
My
face
burned
with
the
hot
blood,
my
hand
holding
the
paper
shook
with
the
angry
pulse,
and
my
heart
went
bang!
bang!
bang!
and
I
could
feel
its
beat
in
the
carotids
of
the
neck
and
up
along
the
Torcular
herophili
and
big
vessels
in
the
occipital
region
of
the
head.
Drew
in
each
breath
very
gently
for
fear
of
aggravating
the
fiend.
Got
home
(don't
know
how)
and
had
some
sal
volatile.
Am
better
now
but
very
demoralised.
February
13.
Feel
like
a
piece
of
drawn
threadwork,
or
an
undeveloped
negative,
or
a
jelly
fish
on
stilts,
or
a
sloppy
tadpole,
or
a
weevil
in
a
nut,
or
a
spitchcocked
eel.
In
other
words
and
in
short--ill.
February
16.
After
some
days
with
the
vision
of
sudden
death
constantly
before
me,
have
come
to
the
conclusion
that
it's
a
long
way
to
go
to
die.
Am
coming
back
anyhow.
Yet
these
are
a
few
terrible
pages
in
my
history.
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