a dentist appointment is an oddly relaxing experience now

Whirring, whining, drilling, squeaking, gushing, sucking. Sounds of wet flesh and machine as they entangle in the dance of dental medicine. I swear I am not a psychopath. Atleast my psychiatrist has not broken the news to me yet. When I was a young boy I was terrified of the dentist, and to exacerbate it, dental hygiene was not really a point of strick upholding in my house at the time (gross I know) so trips to the dentist were rare. It was impossible for me to grow the singular hair on my chin to be courageous. The few times I went, a check up would take ages, because I would cower behind my mother or in a corner, not even looking at the dentist, no where near his chair of horrors. The dentist (who I still go to sometimes) was immensely patient with me and eventually through tears and physical restraining we would get my needs sorted out. That had to change eventually. The necessity of permanently leaving *********** to London was the push I needed to overcome my ancient horror. How…