The Annoyingness Of Me

In our personal mythology, I’m famous for almost having destroyed my marriage with unnecessary freakouts.  I used to panic all the time over silly things, needing reassurance and proof of love over the dippiest of interactions.  I look back at those days, and I’m actively embarrassed at myself.
I’m still pretty childish, sad to say.  Gini deals with it well because she’s known me long enough to handle me, but other partners have looked at the fully-unpacked neuroses of The Ferrett and said, “Nope.  I’ll be over here, with a better guy.”  Which I can only agree seems like a reasonable conclusion.
Except.
Except when there’s real shit going down, I’ll manage.
It’s noteworthy that our marriage was saved when Gini shattered her shoulder and was in serious medical trouble, needing roofing screws to hold her left arm together… and I shut the fuck up.  I became the caretaker, holding off all of my usual bullshit worries until the real trouble was over.  In that moment, Gini saw a different side of me, and fell in love with the competent man I can sometimes be.
I’m in a situation where I may have to be that strong again.  For a couple of years, maybe.  And I guess it’s good to know that when the shit hits the fan, I’ll do what needs to be done – it’s better than the alternative, certainly – but it’s a constant nag on my thoughts: “Why can’t you be that way all the time?  Why does your best side only emerge during crisis mode?”
We’ll know tomorrow what the diagnosis is, and I hope all is well. I really do.  And if that portion of me is needed, I’ll be as strong as I have to be to see a loved one through the end of their lives.  And I know I can do that.  I just wish that all of my silly freakouts weren’t indulged so extravagantly during the non-critical times, so that I could be a little less annoying to the ones I love in times of peace.