The Artistic Bullet Wound

As promised, I have gotten to the point of this blog, I plan to share my more upsetting and perhaps embarrassing entries that were originally written in the Burn Book. For some clarification, when I say embarrassing, I don’t mean “Omg I totally have a crush on this guy”, I mean I feel nervous about exposing how my mind works. Even now  I’m freaking out. I don’t enjoy being teased (which is, I guess, what I think is going to happen). Then again, that’s the whole purpose of this, I’m trying to overcome my fears and take criticism and comments alike. It’s my therapy blog. 

Today’s entry comes in no particular order. In fact I was leafing through the book trying to find one that seemed a bit tame, or at least something that I could get behind. I needed a good starter, not something completely overwhelming. There have been some posts that made me grimace. I didn’t think those would have been a good opening number. You should never start the performance off with your best act. 

I remember writing this entry after coming home from the dentist (a different dentist than the one I saw yesterday). I was getting fitted for a night guard because I had been suffering lots of stress and it was causing me to clench my teeth, which is turn gave me terrible headaches. The dentist was an elderly man. I had never been to him before and since my regular doctor was unavailable I decided to see him.

I’m sorry, I had to pause for a moment. I knew what happens next and that little voice in my head was screaming at me to disconnect. For a moment or two I did, completely shut down. Like C3PO switching off in Star Wars (that scene in Obi Wan’s hut with Luke, R2D2 and Princess Leia’s message).

I got into the chair and told him what was bothering me. For awhile things were pretty dentist-office-visit-standard. As he was fitting me for the mouth guard, I was laying almost completely horizontal in the chair. The dentist “casually” brushed his fingers up and down my leg, or gripped me just above the knee with the majority of his hand far to close to my inner thigh area and “caress” my face. 

I wanted so desperately to react, to smack his hands away and scream. But I shut down, as I always do. Every time this had happened in past situations I crawled into myself, found a corner of my mind no one could reach and rode it out. The deeper I went the less I would feel. But all the while I was crying on the inside. I see a little girl in the corner of a dark room clutching a teddy bear. She is crying and pleading over and over “stop….just stop…please. Stop it.” She cries some more. That little girl is me. 

The appointment ended, he told me to come back and see him to get a final fitting. I walked out of the office, got into my car and screamed. I kicked and punched in the inside of that poor car. Just flailing like I was having a seizure. Needless to say, I did NOT go back. That evening I cursed myself for not being strong enough. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say “NO”. Every goddamn time I switch off. 

Image

That night I contemplated suicide, which was common, hence the artistically drawn bullet hole. 

I’m getting rather agitated, so I think this will have to be the end this post right here for today. I’m already past the point of restless frustration and I want to cry.The rekindled memories and sitting here for over an hour (I kept getting interrupted, like five thousand times). I’m just going to toss in the towel and prep for tomorrow.

Thanks for reading. 

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