To Face a Fear

It is currently twenty minutes before my doom.

The tub of toothpaste I've laid upon my toothbrush is simply not enough to stave off imminent death.

I could brush until my gums started to bleed and not a thing would change.

The floss I've been using seems to get the gunk out at least.

The bad breath went away too. I have the mouth wash to thank for that.

But those stains. Those yellow, crusty dusty disgusting stains. I am unable to remove them.

Whitener would be useful about now. It would only mask my failure at self keeping. Any certified dentist who took a glance at my fangs would know.

I haven't fucking brushed in a month.

It's not like I'll die if I don't brush my teeth. It wastes time, time I could use doing something else like working, I guess. Or sleeping.

My uncleanliness all started two months ago, the day I left home for college. My addiction was innocent at first, simply skipping brushing in the morning, then like any malevolent plague brought from the recesses of a backwater country from the most vile of alleyways, it evolved. I started to skip one day. Then two days. Then I got out of hand at three days.

My mother always kept a leash on me when I was at home, telling me, no, forcing me to brush twice a day. Like clockwork in the morning and at night I heard the incessant request to 'please brush your teeth'.

Yes, I found it highly annoying. Yes, I miss it.

Of course, if my mother ever hears about my infidelity, she'll fly over and gag me with various mint flavored tools from hell in an attempt to fix my far gone chompers. They're not even teeth anymore. The plaque really has started to build up.

I don't even want to smile anymore.

Sounds depressing.

I also can't eat out in public anymore. Well I could. I just… don't want anybody to see my teeth.

Or smell them. I don't know if they smell bad but they probably do. Of course, I'm not gonna ask somebody to check and be responsible for their funeral afterwards.

Who could I even ask? My roommate would look at me with disgust every time he glanced in my direction. He already kinda does. Maybe he knows.

Wait.

He absolutely, positively just has to know.

Gasp. Awe. Amazement.

I'm gonna go die now.

Of course. We used to brush at around the same time. We share a bathroom and a toothbrush cup, like we're married (ew). He probably thinks I'm a degenerate. It's over. My life had ended fifteen minutes before I thought it would.

Just fifteen minutes until the end of time. My time at least.

In life, we cannot expect to traverse the harsh waters without a bit of struggle and failure. Right about soon, I would capsize, drown, and die at the bottom of the worlds deepest darkest trench.

Yes.

It was happening.

My yearly check up.

A dentist would gaze upon my ghastly maw and most likely gag through the surgical mask. Maybe I outta get insurance if they pass away after looking at my abomination? Oh, it's too late.

I know the dentist too. Makes it all the worse. I should probably cancel. I most definitely should cancel. Before I capsize on the rocky shore, I should abandon ship.

Yes.

No.

I can't keep running away from my mouth problems. In that metaphor, I'd jump off my twenty four decker cruiser just to land into a pool of blood thirsty great whites.

Yes. I must face my fears, my troubles. It's the only way to get rid of my unease and anxiety. The only way to live a life I can be proud to live.

I will go to the dentist's office.

I just really hope they don't tell my mom.