weak

Sometimes my body lets me down. Or anyway, throws up a bit of a roadblock. Did so tonight. Again. For what seems like the hundredth time.
I wasn't alone this evening when I faltered and my mind flew out and started screaming, picking, panicking. I could tell the difference between crying into my pillow and crying onto a strong shoulder and quite recommend the latter. But being comforted--and in the best possible way--isn't the same as being cured, and showing vulnerability, no matter how simply, will never be easy for me.
My eyes are red and I'm awake way past my bedtime. I am more tempted than I have ever been to call in sick to work tomorrow. There would be an air of legitimacy to it, after all.
I feel like I WILL be ok. But it may not be soon. And I'm afraid that way into the future I'll remember how this failing felt and it will make me distrustful and wary. If you see me dipping into that paranoia, stop me and remind me that I am just fine and tell me you love me and if I cry just let me for a few minutes before you wipe away my tears.