The distinction was lost on my mom. I was under arrest again, locked up. It was becoming a pattern. What was going to become of her dear son? Was I going to spend my life in and out of prison? She visited me and broke down in tears. She had done so much for me, and this was how I was repaying her—with misery and worry. It broke my heart to see her cry. How many times had I promised her I’d give up hacking, really, truly meaning it but no more able to stick to my word than the alcoholic who keeps falling off the wagon?