"On Teeth Dreams," An Essay
No good can come from researching dreams, anyway. Still, I started my search for answers at Google, plugging in “teeth falling out reoccurring dream,”. The first result was a basic webpage with two lists: “negative” and “positive” connotations. I scanned it, diligently, as if it were an academic source. “Loss” seemed to dominate the “negative” category. What kind of loss? Too vague. My eyes stopped at “Life changes and growing pains”, a bullet on the “positive” list. The phrase seemed to demand introspection rather than kindly offering a solution.
Spurned by the internet, I turned to the tragic heroes of my evenings, my own front teeth. Maybe my teeth weren’t the symbol, but instead the subject. Night after night I grieve their loss, just to find them back each morning. I did endure six years of painful orthodonture. I wear a retainer every night to keep my teeth from grinding each other to dust. They are my prized possessions, the shining trophies after conquering the pallet spreaders, the braces, the retainers, and the rubber bands. No. It can’t be that literal.
It was time to assess my past; to pinpoint the moments of change and growth. What was worthy, amongst the dead goldfish, the middle-school bullies, and the first boyfriend, of chronic night terrors? Nothing stuck out. Shouldn’t something stand out? If one specific loss or change is causing reoccurring dreams, it should be evident which one. It should be obvious. Maybe I haven’t faced the cause of my terror yet. I suppose impending, looming loss is tormenting. It is unending, immortal, and exhausting.
What came first, the trouble of teeth, or the problems that bring me back to them? That I can’t research, surely.