Psychological Dry Socket

Last night I just hit rock bottom on mood and fever pitch on anxiety. Every little thing was salt in a wound, nails on a chalkboard. I was in the depressive abyss where everything seemed hopeless, pointless, and my nerves were like frayed ropes. My cat would nuzzle me or my kid would speak and it hit me…
The only comparison that I can make is….psychological dry socket.
Now if you’ve never had dry socket after having a tooth removed, consider yourself lucky. Essentially, it means the hole they plucked the tooth from fails to clot or loses the clot leaving that bone exposed to heat, cold, food, liquids.
The literature says it’s “uncomfortable.”
They apparently are masochists because from my recollection of having dry socket on several occasions…It’s agonizing. And my only coping mechanism, because it was so all encompassing, was to sleep.

So to come to the realization that you’ve reached the point of psychological dry socket where every tiny thing is agonizing and all you can do is sleep it off…
Rock bottom is a step up.

I curled up in bed at 7:30 pm, staring at my computer screen showing Forensic Files and praying for sleep. To not think. To not be. To not feel every tiny thing like it’s filtered through a stack of Marshall amps set up for a fucking stadium concert.
And my kid, much like the rest of the world, demands a reason for being sad because she’s happy all the time and everyone else should be as well. I try to explain calmly that sometimes, people are sad, and maybe there’s no reason but they still feel sad. And that’s okay.
She doesn’t get it but she’s 5. The rest of the world has no excuse.

I got up this morning, having sold my soul to multiple people so I could aid a friend in need…Only to find an email informing me the plan has changed for third time and I am no longer needed. Thanks. I rearrange everything on your word and sorry is supposed to make it all better.
This is precisely why I am always alone and so cynical. Giving people the benefit of the doubt is going to be the death of me. I need to stop doing that and just embrace my own misanthropy. It’s more mentally healthy than constantly going out on the ledge to pull back someone who’d just as soon jump and take you with them.

Then once I got that wound licked, dealt with multiple screaming tantrums from my child who can’t understand that she can’t go to school at 7 am simply because she is ready to do so…I came home to find my sink has sprung a leak because the former handyman never fixed it right. I just turned off the water. I am in no mood for some stranger to come in and judge my crappy housekeeping. I will deal with it when I’m not in psychological dry socket land.
I still have to go to the shop and finish out my soul selling servitude. But it’s ok, that’s my norm. He sent texts and called last night and I couldn’t be bothered to reply. For once, I had just gotten to that sleepy place prior to going under completely and if I woke up enough to deal, I knew i’d be chasing my tail mentally for hours to come. Besides, if you wait until ten o clock at night to call then get pissed that there’s no answer, that makes you the asshole. Polite consideration, for fuck’s sake. The world does not revolve around him.
He missed that memo.
A lot of people around me did, apparently.

I am well aware the world doesn’t revolve around me.
So why do I blog practically every day talking about me me me?
It’s simple. Mental purge. I get gorged on the daily trials of life and eventually, I have to purge. Writing is my way of doing that.
Plus, the more comments I receive reflecting positively on my posts…The more encouraged I am to be even more open. It means a lot when my writing resonates and that is not idle lip service to garner attention for my bruised ego. All I have ever been is a writer, yearning for my words to mean something to someone other than me.
When they do…it’s a good feeling. It means under all my damage and ADD babbling…I am making sense to someone other than myself.
That is why I keep doing this blog.
To get a comment telling me that my words mimic how another is feeling, as if I am in their head…Well as much as it might help them, it helps me too. It makes me feel less loony, less alone.
Purging is not about nourishing the soul, it’s about spewing the extraneous stuff life throws at me.

But this blog, and all the positive input I get, that is what nourishes my soul. I am very grateful for it.

Now…I’m going to spend more time trying to talk myself into a much needed shower then paste on the happy face (ha ha ha, more like “fuck with me and i will stab your eyes out with a spork” face) and go deal with the petri dish of humanity. Another dive into the shallow kiddie pool while I wait for this psychological dry socket to heal.

I’ve it many times before but…There really should be novacaine for the brain.

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2 Responses to “Psychological Dry Socket”

  1. Oh please keep purging! I love the line where you say people don’t want to be talked off the ledge, they would just as soon jump and take you with them.

  2. I agree with Thinkingoutsideofmyhead. Your writing and purging is a huge help! I told my bf the other day that I’d found my match with you. He said he was surprised to see someone as snarky and pessimistic as I am, lol. And he had a better idea of how I felt from reading your post too. As long as you like writing I will keep reading!

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