I was in my tiny apartment’s bathroom, early on a Sunday morning, rinsing my mouth out with water when I noticed the faint, uneven impressions along the sides of my tongue—those teeth marks I’d heard people mention but never thought much about.
It was odd seeing them so clearly, and it made me pause, a subtle discomfort rippling through me as I wondered if it was something serious.
Life hasn’t exactly been calm lately.
I work a demanding, desk-bound job in a small marketing firm, where deadlines loom constantly, and my boss doesn’t hesitate to remind me how replaceable I am.
The stress has been mounting quietly but unmistakably.
Between long hours, trying to keep up appearances with friends, and dealing with my chronic insomnia, I rarely get a moment for myself.
Eating has become rushed; often I find myself snacking absentmindedly while staring at my screen.
The power imbalance in my life crystallizes around Jeremy, my immediate supervisor.
He holds all the cards—the power to approve overtime, performance reviews, even my position here.
But he’s distant and often dismissive when I try to express concerns, brushing off my requests for flexibility or help without explanation.
