There's a certain moment on my way to work, about 20 minutes from home, where one freeway merges with another, when something inside me snaps like a giant rubber band. My heart beats faster. My chest grows tight. My skin feels electric.
Right there, in the middle of six lanes of traffic, I am certain something bad is going to happen, to me or to someone I love. Maybe it's a car accident. Maybe it's a plane crash. My body and my mind prepare for the worst. I want to jump off the freeway, go back the way I came.