I woke up at 4 AM this morning to a panic attack. I get them from time to time ever since living in Washington through 9/11, the anthrax attack, and the DC sniper. My usual trick is to sit on the floor with my dog, Monty, but that didn’t help so I went for a long walk.

Panic attacks aren’t only about the thing happening when you have them. For me, they tend to be triggered by something — like, say, a really important election — but also an expression of built up anxieties that I’ve white-knuckled through but can no longer keep at bay. Eventually, the brain’s motherboard shuts down and demands a reset of the mind’s CPU. It’s not pleasant.

I’m guessing I wasn’t the only one who woke up this morning with the shakes, the palpitations, the sweats, and the feeling that the walls are closing in. We’ve all been white-knuckling through the last four years, and if we’re really honest about it, much longer than that.