I vaguely remember last January or so when my dentist told me I had a problem. "Do you notice that your jaw is tired or hurting? Do you grind your teeth? It certainly looks like it. I noticed it a little on your last visit, but I think it's gotten worse," she said to me. "Have you been stressed out lately?" she continued.
And I had. Probably for about a year, I had been stressed out. Now, I don't like to blame everything on my ex (because I am a notoriously nice and forgiving person) but after a year of small fights, lots of drinking, poor communication, and not being able to predict when or if he would come home to sleep, I was pretty well out of my mind. And that's not even counting the annoyances of work.
I've since learned (after switching dentists) that my former dental hygienist was a bit over-dramatic. For instance, this new hygienist told me, my teeth are a "moderate risk" for cavities instead of a "high risk." Whatever that means. (Great, so I don't have to worry about flossing as much as I previously did? Right, yeah, I didn't think that's what you meant.) However, I'm sort of a hypochondriac about my teeth. And being the sort of extremist I am, I took their advice last January and I went out and I bought myself a plastic DIY retainer sort of thing. (DIY is very big these days.)
"You'll never use that," Jacob scoffed when he saw the box sitting on the counter. I was pretty irritated. Here was this idiot who barely brushes his teeth once a day, ("But I don't eat anything really sugary and full of carbs, Em.") and who goes to the dentist every five years and when he does go is told that his teeth are magical and he's doing everything right in the world. Those incisors were made from perfect white marble. Canines the density of diamonds. God himself doesn't have such perfect chompers. "Why did I even come in today," his dentist purportedly said, "I could be out golfing." Here was this jackass who just didn't care about his teeth, who was (in my mind) mostly responsible for my wearing down of my psyche and own precious molars, and he had the audacity to assume that I would be lax in my own dental care?!
Well, he was only a little right. (He knew me well.) I let it sit for another couple of months. Then, my Bruxism got the better of me. Bruxism is such an ugly word. It sounds brutal and barbaric. It sounds primal. It sounds like something guttural, and, well, grinding. For good reason. My jaw started hurting. I got a headache a couple of times. So I dug out my little DIY plastic mouth guard retainer thing. I dipped it in boiling water. I let it cool slightly. Then I sank my teeth into it.
If you don't do it correctly, if your bite isn't exactly centered, you're supposed to melt the sucker down again (by boiling) and take another bite. Well I didn't. I called it good. Now, I'm a little bit nervous about this, as, because I am a worrier I'm pretty sure my bite is going all wonky and my parent's thousands of dollars in orthodontic measures are being ruined. But it's fine. It does the trick. I have to sleep with a huge thing of chunk inside my mouth and try not to gag when I wake up in the morning... but... who cares? Who's counting? Completely normal. (Ha!)
Recently my trusty little mouth guard is cracking. I mean, I guess that's what you expect from a $20 piece of plastic, but still. It's cracking from all the weird grinding. And now that I've gotten myself out of this strange, stressful, and toxic situation with my ex-boyfriend, I still need to use it. I'm not sure if it's a learned behavior, or if it's that I'm still ridiculously stressed about the men (or lack thereof) in my life, but if I feel upset at night, I know I'd better reach for the little piece of plastic to save my molars from wear and tear.
I think the point of this entry is this: In a myriad of ways, physical, mental, emotional, relationships (and the ending of them) have a lasting effect on a person. It's hard to escape unscathed. I always knew this. Obvious, right? I still feel the after-effects of some previous relationships. I may grind my teeth for the rest of my life because once I had a boyfriend who I didn't trust very much near the end of our relationship, and who resented communicating with me and refused to do so. I'm not over Jacob. I don't think about him extensively, but I am in no way over him. And that really bites.
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