It's weird -- when it hits you, how it hits you, why it hits you.
I've been having panic attacks lately.
Why? Logan's been heroin-free for over a year. True, he's been behind bars for over a month, but for a minor offense and, well, frankly, we're all a bit relieved he's just getting the time over with.
So why the panic now? I dunno.
First time, it was in a funeral. Okay, I can respect that about myself. Second time, a simple meeting at work. Third time, dinner with friends. Right. Like, what's panic-inducing about that?
I just don't know, folks. My guess is that the constant worry just takes something out of you. It's like a long hypodermic needle comes along and pierces your spine, painful when it happens, sure, and extracts something, some marrow of sorts from you - some essential ability to keep that spine straight under duress.
But why? Is it because of the many times you took his early-man-stubbled face between your hands and told him goodbye, knowing full well you may never see this son again? The times you HAD to let him go....over and over and over again, powerless to stop the forces that drive him to self-destruction? The times you stood, watching, helpless, hoping against hope he would survive? Are those instances just so deeply nerve-wracking that, more than a year later, when all seems to be quiet and relatively well, you suddenly CANNOT sit still through a simple dinner with friends? Think you're going to scream and go running from the room during a simple work meeting?
I tell you, I DO NOT like this. Not one bit. But it looks as if I can control this as ineffectively as I could control my son's addiction. Translation: can't be done. Must be accepted, faced, and allowed to pass.
Think I'll ever get back to normal? I wish I knew.