Psychological Dry Socket

For those lucky enough to have never had dry socket from dental work…it’s excrutiating. Just look up the definition and you will cringe. Try living through it. Dry socket is one of the many reasons I was glad my own lousy dna resulted in dentures at age 27. (Trust me, when told it’s yank ’em and wear fake ones or die of systemic blood poisoning in extreme agony…vanity loses to survival instinct.)

For Christmas, I want the ability to STAY ON TOPIC! Oh, and a decent night’s sleep uninterrupted and my kid not to wake me at 6 a.m. again.

I have reached the point where I have dry socket of my central nervous system. I may not be in physical agony but all this faking my way through the shop, through R, through the family drama, my kid’s never ending ailments, demands, and tantrums…the hellidays…

The root is exposed and throbbing and I am two steps from a complete breakdown, just like when I had dental dry socket and was forced to wait two days to get into the doctor. I cried for two days, over the counter stuff did nothing, and by the time I got in to the dentist, I was bawling and begging for him to

I have new clarity now but it doesn’t make it any easier. I know I have to get away from that shop and from R. It’s toxic, even if deep down he is a good guy and I don’t want to hurt him (as if you can really hurt a narcissist) but more than that, I don’t want to deal with his tantrum.

The best way is a clean break but he will never allow it. He will text and call and guilt me even if I do work up the nerve to abandon ship. He will come to my door. He will remind me of every kind act he has ever done for me or my family. If I don’t cave, it will turn into how I’d have gone under without all his help and I am ungrateful and lazy. Been there, done that.

If this were a real job situation and I handed in a resignation letter, there would be zero backlash. The law doesn’t allow it. Maybe a petty boss would tank any references, but they wouldn’t yell at me, guilt trip me, or tell me I am nothing without them carrying me.

It’s my self esteem and sanity versus an egomaniac with no respect for my feelings and while doc nurse seemed so unconcerned..

I can’t handle the toxicity. I can’t be rid of my family, kid, or cats that add to my stress. What does that leave that I can do away with to help my sanity?

Walk away.

He’s told me many times he doesn’t expect much from me, it’s easy smoke money, it’s ass work (eww, sounds like porn, but alas, it means sit on your ass all day)…Well, then he should have no problem replacing me. Good luck finding someone willing to let you beat them down daily for 6 years for smoke money. I was making amends for all my unmedicated years of bipolar I subjected him to because guilt is not something you get rid of easily. Especially when constantly reminded how you did this and you did that and…

Come to think of it, I don’t believe any amends I make will matter unless I do his bidding. How could a psych professional not hear all of this and think, hey, this guy sounds like a trigger, perhaps she needs help bowing out of this unhealthy situation gracefully with a note…

I am so disgusted with her right now I wish she’d get fired or I could sue her. But I know that’s the pms (yeah, ten days of menstrual dysphoria is way more than pms) and after the holidays and that, I will not feel so hateful. Just relieved if I never have to see her again. Unless Dr. B happens to believe her over me, in which case, they should just put me in the hospital for the rest of my life because I can’t keep trying this hard to no avail.

I guess this rant is the result of being wakened 4 times this week at 6 a.m. by my child who insists on zonking out at 7 p.m. Even children don’t require 11 hours of sleep, their body is at some point going to decide it’s rested…But I wasn’t and I couldn’t get back to sleep because of the anxiety and racing thoughts…Now I have 3 hours before I have to meet a lady at the shop so she can drop off a TV (I am doing it for the customer, NOT for R), then I have to go to the snotty grocery store, with kid in tow, to get my chicken noodle stuff to bring to Xmas Eve tomorrow night, then at some point dad is stopping by to give me my gift cards because I told him I wanted to spend more on my kid (who does NOT deserve it for being so awful this week) but now I can’t because I have no sitter unless I want to ruin her surprise and she sees her dollhouse assembled at mom’s.

Would it hurt for something to go right on occasion?

Oh, and I had an epiphany with hard evidence during the night…The reason I prefer alcohol to fall asleep is I don’t even need to take a pill, it just eases me to sleep. I take the meds they prescribe, come midnight I’m so groggy I almost think I’m in the bathroom, then realize I’m about to wet the bed so I have to stumble in there, and then I wobble and bump into walls…A couple of drinks just mellows, it doesn’t have me walking into walls and tripping and too lethargic to go pee or get up with my kid. So…what sane person would choose disorienting pills over a better way? Not saying it’s healthier, but for my situation…it’s certainly better.

And FYI, doc nurse’s anti histamine Vistaril that is supposed to help me sleep….doesn’t do that and it did not help with the stress induced hives that started covering me last night. What a wonder drug!

Plus side, we put up our tree last night. Though the white had yellowed so I took a can of dark green spray paint and now our tree is green. (Yep, I really did that.) We decorated it together and it looks cute. Oh and after she zonked, I finally took a shower for the first time since Sunday or Monday. Yay me! God, during these deep depressions and the central nervous system dry socket, showering is an insurmountable mountain to climb…

Now I am awake, it’s barely light out, and I am dreading the long day ahead. My kid has been downright awful to me this last week and now I’ve got a week and a half of her being home. I think this is where I hit my wall. I am taking her to that godawful counseling center and saying WE need help. I need to learn how to handle a kid who is set off by the word no, and she needs to learn how to not go psychotic when told no.

I don’t see their cognitive therapy being of much help to either of us, personally, but hey, it’s therapy, at least I am following nursey’s advice. When it bites me on the ass and makes me more confused, as it always does, maybe I can find some shyster lawyer to sue them. At some point, you gotta start listening to your patients when they tell you something does more harm than good and sometimes, something does more good than harm.

If I can just survive til Tuesday…the hellidays are the bane of my existence. If I survive that…And sever ties with the shop…

Maybe I stand a chance of not ending up in a locked ward.

Then again, with my current regime, I might well have to be out in the street naked flinging poo before she thinks I need serious help.


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