A Lesson in Trust

"This, " my dentist says reluctantly, " may be a little uncomfortable." Of course, what he means and won't say, is that it's going to hurt like hell. My breathing speeds up, I can hear my heart beating and my fingernails grip the arms of the chair like a vise. There's a scream building in my throat and every prayer I know is running through my head. This is what he calls "dental anxiety" and what I call unrelenting, overwhelming, suffocating terror. The sound of the drill
brings on a full scale panic attack and my spinal chord freezes. I can't move, I can't speak, I can't breathe and I can't run. My faith in God evaporates and I'm absolutely convinced I'm going to die.

My dentist is not only an old friend, he's a good, kind, gentle man and he hates putting me though this. He has led me, small step by small step and with impossible patience, to a place where with enough anesthesia and enough nitrous, there is relative trust and safety. If only my reflexes had made the trip with me.

Trust is difficult for children of addiction. An inner voice is always on the alert. It listens for the fraud in people, it pays strict attention to each tone of voice, it evaluates for hidden agendas. It takes notice of the smallest lie. If you overcome it and are then betrayed, it shouts "I told you so!". It's a voice of protection and self preservation and even if you may longer need it, it will not be silenced.

To the people I trust, I am grateful. They didn't give up when I resisted.
To those I don't, watch your backs. Trust me.