"You Love Me Even Though I'm A Wreck, Right?"

So.  A couple of hours before the convention.  That’s usually when I stress out.  All my social anxiety hits me in one ball of DON’T WANNA GO, and I curl up for a bit by the suitcase and pretend like I’m packing.
Gini comes in.  She hugs me.  I tremble.
“You love me even though I’m a total wreck, right?” I ask.
I hear her silence.  Hear her considering all the ways I’m wrong.  And then she finally says the right words:
“Yes,” she tells me.  “Yes, I love you even though you’re a total wreck.”
And I hold her tight and thank her.
Other partners would tell me that I’m not a total wreck, that I go to conventions all the time and I do well, that I’ve managed to eke out some mild fame out of being a writer even though I’m a neurotic and a depressive and a cauldron of anxiety.  But I didn’t ask, “Am I stronger than I think?”
I asked, “If I’m as bad as I think, will you still love me?”
And she would.
She would.
I’m gathering my things right now.  I’m printing off the chapter I’ll read at the con. And by the time I get there, I’ll be okay.
But if it’s not okay – if I’m not okay – she’ll still love me.
She loves me if I’m a total wreck, and that gives me the strength to be more.