Another case of the 4am squints

Last night, while in bed, I had something like a panic attack. At least I think it was a panic attack, I’m not certain. The word panic isn’t quite right though, which is what gives me pause…it was more like terror. Overwhelming existential terror. I watched my life play out before me, several times, in several different ways. I watched it play out from the beginning as well; so many possible roads, from so many different intersections along my own chronological road. I could have done this. I could have done that. I could have died then. I could have had that. I could have been this person. I could have been that person. Each possibility hit me like a palette of bricks, in vivid detail, and crushed me with inexplicable terror at the utterly cruel indifference of luck and the universe. There’s no second tries, and even if you make all the right decisions for yourself, it can all be for nothing without luck. Surely, I tell myself, this is a case of momentary pessimism…that my glass, half full or empty, at least has something in it that I overlook in the wee hours of the cold bitter morning. I tell myself that I just can’t see how fortunate I am, because such things get taken for granted…but it’s a lie. I’ve not had joy of the heart for years now, and have actually been faking it. And not very successfully either. One by one, people, places, hopes, dreams, and ideals fall away. They change, of course, before they die…because dying with integrity just isn’t life’s style.