I had another dream where all my teeth fell out. This time I had braces on the top row, so my right canine went first and then the whole wire just popped out with all my front teeth. Then some stragglers in the back loosened and were chewed upon.
This dream was different from my usual teeth falling out dreams. This time I made it to the dentist. I felt safer as soon as I was there. Like I was proactive and it was gonna be okay. But before the dentist even came in, my teeth grew back. I opened up to show her my problem, and there was no problem. She didn’t shame me or say it was all in my head, she just congratulated me for the regrowth of my teeth.
I think there’s something to this. I’ve never had a happy ending to one of these dreams before. Maybe it’s because I usually wake up after and this time my gabapentin helped me sleep long enough to reach a nice conclusion. But I’m going to put a less neutral spin on it: Maybe I’m just learning how to manage and resolve my stress better.
Stress had such a grip on me yesterday that I felt like I’d discovered some sort of new and deadly panic attack. A quiet one. One where I felt on the brink of catatonia. My hands were numb. My lips were numb. My knees were weak and my jaw was slack. But for all that looseness, my back was in its usual, painful bind. I’d been triggered by financial conversations and by sharing my one room apartment with a maintenance worker for four hours. The groans of his drill as it stripped every screw bore into my sanity. (Drill some pilot holes first, my dude!)
When he was finally gone and I could drop the mask, I slothed my way into the shower. Hot water helped even though it softened my joints to jello. I bumped against the walls of the shower to keep myself upright, still in my zombie trance. Then I slugged my way to the kitchen with wet hair and prepped some frozen gnocchi.
Food brought me back to life, and the potential of making it to the Monday night ACA meeting congealed in my thoughts. By the time I was walking, I felt alert again.
The best thing about an ACA meeting is that you can mostly drop the mask. When people ask how you are, no one expects you to say “fine” or “good.” So I told the truth.
By the time the meeting started I had shared some smiles. Small but authentic.
I had made it to the dentist. And that one act of mental hygiene sent me home in better shape.
