Biting into a plate of food, I suddenly feel a strange snap inside my mouth. I place my finger on a tooth and abruptly it falls out. I make my way across my gums and, one by one, teeth crumble. I panic as I frantically try piecing together the white porcelain shards in my palm. I suddenly wake up from this nightmare.
A reoccurring dream of mine, I ponder its possible meaning. By this weekend, its significance is painfully clear.
On Saturday morning, I feel an incredible pain in my molar—a throbbing menace that moves through my sinuses, head and ears. Monday morning, the tooth/headache is unbearable. By Tuesday morning, I am dialing dentists, desperately trying to book an appointment.
The final diagnosis: tooth decay, two root canals.
Bedridden for several days, I am fuming over the astronomical dental bill, frustrated that the meds aren't working, sad that I can't be with my daughter. More so, I feel guilt.
These root canals are completely preventable. Yes, I admit, I am a sugar addict. I also hate going to the dentist. I put off important tasks. But these are simply symptoms of a larger, underlying ailment.
Dreams of teeth falling out are quite common. Some dream interpreters believe teeth represent one’s attractiveness, beauty and self-confidence. Caring about how we appear is apparently quite normal and creates a certain amount of anxiety.
But what happens when the pursuit of perfection becomes an compulsion that rots you from the inside out? When you chronically coat your teeth with high-calorie, high-carbohydrate foods and then bath them in hydrochloric stomach acid? When you yet again must confront the unimaginable damage of self-inflicted abuse.
As I work towards rebuilding my teeth, I am reminded of a painful past, battling a very personal, very shameful body image problem. Sad little shards of insecurity and self-hatred that I now hold in the palm of my hand. Though I've come to treat my harmful habits, I still pay an enormous price for my actions, which I hope to one day settle. But that's ok, 'cause I am worth every penny.
Showing posts with label Mental Health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mental Health. Show all posts
Jul 8, 2011
Jun 27, 2011
Being Just Crazy Enough
I was recently sent a TED talk from Joshua Walters, a comedian/poet/mental health educator, on the relationship between manic depression and creativity.
I had the pleasure to hear Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison discuss her research on increased rates of bipolar illness in writers and artists. Her memoir An Unquiet Mind, which details her experience with severe mania and depression, sheds light on the complicated illness.
Reflecting on all the artisitic icons that impact my life, apart from living outside the mainstream, are they manic depressives too? Have a functional mental disorder? Or just simply touched with fire?
Walters dedicates his talk mainly to the manic side of the disorder. But for every emotion, there is an equal and opposite emotional commotion. For some, control and management of the disorder includes treating the less fun and sexy sibling, depression.
Breaking the Surface
Suddenly, I am Underwater.
I don’t remember being above ground last. Or breaking the surface. But I am sinking, sinking at an unbearable rate and with leaden weight.
Icy waters enfold the body, piercing every pore, closing every cavity—nostrils, ears, eyes.
Leaving me senseless and alone.
And with agonizing thoughts of what awaits for me below.
Suddenly, I am yanked out. With infuriating force, my body—every pore, every cavity—exhales. I vigorously fill up on air and take to the ground running. I cross streets and sidewalks, sprint past churches and schools, tear through banks and malls, and flatten offices and homes. An ecstatic, inexhaustible energy-surge shocks my muscles, tears hair off skin, meat off bones, veins from organs.
In flight, high on air, breaking the surface, I exhale.
I awake.
Not sure if I collapsed or am detained.
Feeling the weight of trodden towns and injured eyes.
Gasping for air, I inhale pins.
Shock, sadness, guilt—they enfold the body—piercing every pore, closing every cavity.
The surface begins to quiver.
As I hold my breath.
I had the pleasure to hear Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison discuss her research on increased rates of bipolar illness in writers and artists. Her memoir An Unquiet Mind, which details her experience with severe mania and depression, sheds light on the complicated illness.
Reflecting on all the artisitic icons that impact my life, apart from living outside the mainstream, are they manic depressives too? Have a functional mental disorder? Or just simply touched with fire?
Walters dedicates his talk mainly to the manic side of the disorder. But for every emotion, there is an equal and opposite emotional commotion. For some, control and management of the disorder includes treating the less fun and sexy sibling, depression.
Breaking the Surface
Suddenly, I am Underwater.
I don’t remember being above ground last. Or breaking the surface. But I am sinking, sinking at an unbearable rate and with leaden weight.
Icy waters enfold the body, piercing every pore, closing every cavity—nostrils, ears, eyes.
Leaving me senseless and alone.
And with agonizing thoughts of what awaits for me below.
Suddenly, I am yanked out. With infuriating force, my body—every pore, every cavity—exhales. I vigorously fill up on air and take to the ground running. I cross streets and sidewalks, sprint past churches and schools, tear through banks and malls, and flatten offices and homes. An ecstatic, inexhaustible energy-surge shocks my muscles, tears hair off skin, meat off bones, veins from organs.
In flight, high on air, breaking the surface, I exhale.
I awake.
Not sure if I collapsed or am detained.
Feeling the weight of trodden towns and injured eyes.
Gasping for air, I inhale pins.
Shock, sadness, guilt—they enfold the body—piercing every pore, closing every cavity.
The surface begins to quiver.
As I hold my breath.
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