I'm the same way.
It's more like a knife in my throat, tho.
Every day, I have panic attacks.
Here's an example. Today, on my lunch break, I called my son.
A little background: he's 17 and living on his own, at some undisclosed location, with "roommates", obviously older friends of his who are allowing him to crash on their couch. He isn't in school and doesn't work.
So, today I called him and he said, "Can't talk now, I'm at the post office." and hung up.
I immediately got nervous and called him back.
"What are you doing at the post office, sweetie?"
"Buying stamps, what the fuck do you think. I'll talk to you later."
Somehow, this just didn't sit well with me. How can he even have any money to buy stamps, and what could he possibly need them for.
I called back.
"What are the stamps for, sweetie?"
"I'm starting my own mail-order meth business, now quit bothering me."
He hung up again.
I know he wasn't serious. He was just being sarcastic because he was annoyed with me, but that sent my mind off on a tangent. What if he and these friends actually are sending or recieving something illegal through the mail? What if he's writing to some friend in a faraway place, and he's about to leave town and go traveling around, go somewhere so far away that I'll never see him again? Why does he need stamps?
I called him back. He answered with "I'm busy, leave me alone." and hung up.
I called back again, but he'd turned his phone off.
The whole time this was going on (on my lunch hour), I was getting more and more upset. I could feel this hot metallic taste rising up in the back of my throat, and my chest felt tight. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
I managed to derail this before it turned into a full-blown panic attack, went back to work, but brooded about it all day. I'm still upset about it now.
This is the sort of interaction my son and I have nearly every day.
It would be different if he were a responsible kid who avoided trouble. I wouldn't even mind him living on his own, if that were the case. But I know him too well, he actively goes looking for trouble. he's already been in trouble in the past. These friends of his are all a bunch of lowlifes.
I'm scared all the time. Every day, the effort it takes to drag myself around work, smile, act cheerful, when inside my heart is breaking and my throat feels lined with broken glass.
It's the worst thing there is.
The I tell myself, "No. At least he's alive, and apparently safe for the moment. it could be much worse. Be grateful for this, for the fact that he's okay, that you still get to talk to him."
Then I feel guilty. i ought to be happy. My son is okay, at least for now.
But I'm so afraid all the time.
My husband is losing patience with the whole situation. I'm so stressed out, depressed, and anxiety-ridden all the time. i know I'm not fun to be around.
I wish I could look into the future, twenty years down the line, and know for sure that my son will be alive and safe and have a good life. Then I could relax and be happy.
But there are no such promises in life, and the future is unknowable.