Tripping On Air: How Come You Never Freak the F*ck Out?

I had a meltdown. One of those heaving, sobbing, gasping for air freak-outs that comes along once (haha, I wish) or twice a year when things seem impossible. A popular theme for my bi-annual trip to Losing My Shitsville is my ever present fear of needing permanent wheels (or worse, but that's a good start). It's an anxiety taking up a lot of real estate in my imagination lately as I struggle to walk a straight line and remain upright for longer than a few minutes.

On this particular day I was ruminating over the fact that I want better for The Banker. I really mean it. He's an awesome guy. Tall, dark and handsome, he has a good job. He's funny and kind and oh my god, why am I trying to sell him to you? He has a superfluous nipple, okay?

this guy is zen af

So how did The Banker get such a raw deal?

Don't get me wrong. I'm a god-damned prize. But as time goes on, I fear The Banker's love for me might turn him into my nurse and I don't want that more than I don't want to be alone.

Through tears, I tried to tell him this, but he is unflappable. First, he laughed at me and my silly concerns. This was annoying because, I wasn't kidding. I'm serious. But this guy, he is so steady, so even. He never seems to get upset. It was only when I said through gross, snotty tears,

and he held my face and made me look at him

"Losing you would make me freak the fuck out."

I took a deep breath. I wiped my nose on his shirt. I calmed down. I believed him and at least for a moment, I felt better.

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