What It Means To Love An Over-Thinker

So baby you say you want to love me? You say you want to go on this ride with me in your arms. But when I say there will be more ups and down than you can ever imagine, sometimes without any reason at all, will you still be able to love me? My mind is easily tricked by thoughts that consume me. I will ask you the same question nine times even if your answers are still the same, because none of it will feel quite right. I am a person damaged by the knots and ties of an overthinking mind. No action to me is simple. I cannot help falling into the pit of depression. My days are battles with my own mind which most of the times I keep losing against. I worry about panic attacks so much that I end up having one. Some days at 12pm in the afternoon, you can catch me sitting on the patio, staring at nothing with tears rolling down my cheek and an unlit cigarette in my hand because of some distant or unusual thought you probably will not find any meaning behind. And some nights, I will get up from my sleep with my heart beating so fast that I can hear something trying to leap out but caged. I will not be able to move and maybe all of this because of some pimple in some weird place which I worry might be cancer or the fear of not having my parents anymore one day. My overthinking mind has trust issues beyond limits but at the same time is burdened by the fear of abandonment. In spite of my independent and strong front, I will be this over-protective and insecure person and some days even jealous. I will take out a hundred conclusions from a simple act of yours. Can you still promise to love me even when you hate me? I will always worry about me not being your home anymore. That all of a sudden you will not find me beautiful enough, funny enough, interesting enough. That one day you will not find me worthy of being yours enough. And these thoughts may consume me so much, that I will not be able to commit to you in the fear of breaking into millions before even joining into one. Days when I will not be pretty enough, screaming or silent, depressed or panicked, kohl smeared, lips bitten, hair all over my face, can you hold my little finger and be with me till the very end? Because I am tired of all these millions thoughts clouding my existence within myself every day. Every adventure turns into fear and every fear into a nightmare. We are not petty whiners, our problem is real. It is a frenzy to us, our brains programed to analyse and over analyse every detail. I may or may not be a damaged soul but there is this hollow pit inside me which eats me a little more every single day. So if one day I run for the hills, will you wait for me by that small bench at the park? Can you promise not to make me an insignificant blue dot in your starry universe? Because no matter what, I will always come back.