This. ☝️ The dental aesthetician who placed my filling displayed a complete inability to concretely empathize with the patient in her chair; today it was me. Water, a lot of it, comes pouring down my neck twice, and she doesn’t apologize or wipe it up. She laughed, “Oh, ya get a little water?” She leaned her forearm on my face, tinted dental glasses pushing down. Instruments hit on or near my nose a few times, and she moved my jaw/face around as though there was not a person connected to them.
The simple building blocks I chose to focus on, as I search for meaning in my changed circumstances, included wearing makeup a few times a week. In the past year, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve applied cosmetics. I realized that seeing myself always with a bare face made me feel like a fibromyalgia patient. In the past, when I’ve been out and about, I’ve worn makeup. My thought was that I would feel less like a chronically ill person, and more like myself, if I put on some blush, eyeliner, and mascara more frequently. The photo above shows what I looked like upon exiting the dentist’s office today after wiping with tissues..
The other activity I identified as a good basic block towards rebuilding my life purpose was walking a few times a week. I walked once, and now I have a crack in the heel skin which is quite painful when walking. Healing requires time without pressure.
I gotta rethink this shit.
SurvivingSara 