The other great Depression - abridged

So I had to choose a prose piece and edit it to fit withon a 3 to 5 minute reading. I think this works but I haven't trialed the theory yet...
This is the after-edit
the link shows the pre-edit

Traumatic Love.
She was my heart’s desire. Even when I ran from the very commitment I delighted in, I was proud of her and she accepted me… Even when I ran.
Love is my other great depression, I mean aside form the other addictions and the drugs.

THE OTHER GREAT DEPRESSION
by: RICHARD LEWIS

http://www.publicaffairsbooks.com/publicaffairsbooks-cgi-bin/display?book=1891620932&view=excerpt

I'm near the end of my fear-of-intimacy rope. what I've experienced is fear. Fear Fear of being criticized. Fear of never doing enough. Fear of her leaving me, out of the blue, for reasons she can't explain. But mostly, fear that I'm with the wrong woman. I can't ever restrain myself from continuing to look for the real Ms. McCoy.

I had gone to see my therapist and spent forty-five revealing minutes going on and on listing every incredible quality my girlfriend had and showing rousing enthusiasm over how meaningful our relationship was. Then I went on and on about how odd it felt being comfortable in a real dynamic, loving commitment, instead of lonely

So the session ends.

Moments later I was in my car trying not to daydream too much

Then it happened. I was so thrilled with my session, so thrilled about how I had sounded—like an honest-to-goodness adult in a loving relationship—I felt alcoholic again. I was looking for trouble and drama.

It didn't take long. There she was. The windows of her jeep were a little tinted but it nevertheless made me crazy. All the sanity I had felt in my therapist's office was drained—
like a great orgasm after fiery sex with a stranger.
__I was hooked. Like any good addict, I wasn't thinking about the consequences.

I drove like the crazy person I am, weaving in and out of traffic. Total excitement. The rush was there. I shamelessly stared at this woman's car—
it was twilight and the shadows made her look even more beautiful through her passenger side.
__I prayed that she would open her window. I knew, though, that if she looked at me, if she smiled at me, it would be easy to ask her to pull over and worry about the shame and guilt afterwards.

Her electric window came down real fast. I was in a state of shock. I knew my insane car chase hadn't been in vain. But not for the reason I had thought.

The fantasy woman was my own girlfriend.

She looked at my guilty face and laughed. "So, just how long was it before you knew it was me? Call me when you get home, honey."

She sped away with a loving gleam in her eye and her understanding and acceptance of me never wavered even after we spoke later that evening. I, however, was in a quiet state of intimacy alert. There was an air-raid siren continuing to blare between my ears. It was less a siren than three words in response to this million-to-one, humiliating episode. My intimacy rope was indeed hanging me.

All I could hear my inner voice saying, over and over and over and over again, was "Marry her, asshole."