I hate going to the dentist. I really do.
As someone with OCD, going to the dentist often evokes so many unsolicited images. It usually begins with a simple, curious question: “In whose mouth were these tools previously used?”, followed by a more urgent one: “Has the assistant washed all of these things thoroughly in the small break between patients?”, and then: “Did they use proper sanitation tools?”. Just like that, my thoughts spiral out of control. It’s as if I've been thrown into a bottomless pit, and all I need to do to break free is jump out of the dental chair and run as fast as I can.
But of course, I can’t do that. Who am I kidding? When I was at the dentist for a scaling session the other day, I told myself to stay still. It was, of course, a challenge in itself. I constantly reminded myself that, as an adult, I should have more control over myself. What I needed was a diversion. I began fighting the deep-seated discomfort by silently repeating, ‘Happy thought! Happy thought! HAPPY THOUGHT!’ It turned out to be a tough, one-man job that took time to complete.
Like finding a switch in a dark room, however, I finally discovered the key to an ephemeral, carefree land. What took me there was neither a familiar place nor my curious imagination—my mind wasn’t in any state to create something out of nothing. It was reeling. Instead, I was drawn there by a smiling figure. The warmth of his presence in my head seemed to signal that everything was fine, even though, in that moment, we were miles apart.
As I write this post, I realize just how profound everything has become. A close confidant arises from a connection that makes you feel as if you’ve known them for years, even if it has only been months. I would liken the figure's familiar disposition to the strokes of my own hand, not only because of the proximity in frequent occurrences, but also because of how this connection has shaped me. If the figment of his presence served as a sweet distraction during my time at the dentist, then his true companionship is an anchor that keeps me grounded. I used to not understand much about this particular subject, but now, everything just... makes sense.
Please don't get me wrong, though. I'm not saying my chaotic mind has magically been cured—the disorder is something I still have yet to fully understand and work on. It's just that walking a tightrope is not a walk in the park, but I find solace in the presence of someone I trust. He's not a knight in shining armor. He's not here to fight my battles. He's here because he knows what my burdens are and still takes my hand.
I hate going to the dentist. I still do. But now, someone is going to be there if I'm about to lose it. And I know I don't want to lose it because I'm stronger than any of those persistent thoughts—they don't define me. My mind may be chaotic, but it's clever enough to comprehend the wave of positive emotion coming its way. And it's still certainly smart enough to cherish it.
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