no milk, heaps of sugar

My hands were shaking as I went to make the tea I had just offered her. It was usually a calming practice, because I had done it so many times, it was almost a rehearsed choreography.

Step one: Put the kettle on.

Step two: Begin your search trough the cabinet for tea, with numerous interesting flavors like mint raspberry or morning energy - whatever that is - and settle on standard English Breakfast most times.

Step three: Grab a mug, any mug, whether its the one that says coffee makes me poop on it or the one you stole from your moms cabinet when you moved out or even the one way too expensive but sexy ceramic you bought with your first adult money. I pick the sexy one for myself and decide to give the stolen mug to her. She will probably be excited about seeing something that belongs to mom.

Step four: Wait for the loud boiling sound that, at the height of its intensity, is interrupted by a loud clicking sound.

Step five: Pour the boiling water over the little PG-Tips-Triangles in the mugs.

Easy. Offering someone a cup of tea when you’re overwhelmed by the situation is a fantastic strategy. It gives you time to collect your thoughts. A bit like watching a beloved movie, where you know the ending by heart, so it calms your mind right down when it starts playing familiar sounds and visuals. As I looked over to the woman sitting at my kitchen table I realized, I had no idea where this story was headed and I was very worried about the ending.

I took a deep breath to gather courage and forced my voice to speak into the silent room: “Milk and Sugar?”

She looked up at me and made a face of amusement: “You know that.” Right. I stayed far away from the milk for both of our teas but added not one but two heaped teaspoons of sugar to them and carried the steaming mugs over to the table, trying to appear calm and cool and hoping my shaky hands wouldn’t blow my cover. I sat down in front of her. A terrible thing, to sit right in front of someone who is unfamiliar to you. Where do you look? I don’t want to stare into her eyes, so I avert my gaze into my mug instead, feeling like that is also a weird thing to do but I am nervous and out of ideas. I want to say something. I search my brain frantically for something to start a conversation with, but the panic turns my brain into a baggage carousel and locks every thought into a carry-on that I do not have the keys for, so I just have to watch them go round and round and stay uncomfortably quiet. After a few more seconds of awkward silence go by I decide to just smash and rattle one of the suitcases until the lock gives up and something comes out.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Okay, obvious, but it'll do for now.

“Me neither. I thought it was a one time thing, a glitch in the matrix so to speak. But I guess not.”

“Yeah, I guess not…” Silence. I take a sip.

“Not happy to see me?”

“Well, uh…” More Silence.

“I get it.” She smiles at me.

I think of the last time we met. I wasn’t nervous at all. When I realized who she was, I was calmer for a while. I was still crying, sobbing even, but when she was with me, it was from relief and not agonizing desperation. She really saved me last time and I will forever be grateful for it. But today, she is making me antsy. Because here is the thing: I don’t have a problem. I am fine. I don’t need her help. Why is she here?

“Last time was pretty bad for me.” I took a sip of my tea. Warmth spread from my fingers and my mouth down throughout my body and I feel my shoulders finally move away from my ears a little bit. “I know.” She does the same thing. “Does this mean… there is a bad time ahead?” I ask her tentatively. She pouts her bottom lip, like I do when I think about all the possible ways to say something and their respective implications. I realize her answer will probably be some variation of yes, but… and I feel myself tensing up again at the prospect of that.

“Look, sometimes we can be… you can be kind of… like you scare easily, you know?”

I nod. I do scare easily. I am scared all the time. I am scared of the future, because I may be unhappy in it. I am scared of the past, because I am afraid I have successfully repressed parts of it and one day, when I least expect it, I might find them. And I am especially scared of the present, because pondering about the past in the present might actually fuck up the future. I am aware that it is what I do now that has the power to change everything my life is all about and I don’t want that kind of responsibility. It scares me. So yeah, I guess you could say I scare easily.

“So when you realize things aren’t exactly as rosy as they once were, you get really in your head about it and that’s actually worse than the original feeling at the beginning.” I nod again. I understand. She is describing a fight I know very well and have been pretty tired of fighting in the past.

Ignore.

Your.

Head.

“It’s hard. It gets to me.”

“I know! I remember last time.”

“Is it going to be like last time?” I feel my stomach turn and my heartbeat quicken.

“I can’t do last time again.” I feel tears welling up in my eyes thinking about last time. It was a long road to where I am today. I don’t think I can do it again.

“Can you tell me if it will be like last time? Please?”

“That’s up to you.” The silence shifts from awkward to loaded.

“How so? It’s not my fault I have this thing in my head!”

“No, it’s not. But it is your responsibility to learn how to deal with it.”

I don’t say anything.

“Because as much as it sucks that your head produces bad thoughts sometimes, they are a bit like your own personal conspiracy theorists. That’s pretty hot right now, isn’t it? 2025?” I shrug. “A little late to the party, height of it is over.” She thinks for a moment, then nods, like she remembers. “You get it tho.” It is not a question. She knows I get it. So I don’t answer. “It’s like that. You know they are there and you kind of know what absurd bullshit they claim but that’s it. They are background noise to your life and it sucks a little bit that they exist. That’s the level of impact they will always have on you. But if you sit down with them, offer them a cup of tea, try to reason with them, they will start telling you all their theories about yourself and why they have collectively come to the informed decision that you, my little friend, are doomed. And in the beginning of this conversation you’re gonna be like: I know what I know and they won’t change that. But by the end of it you’re like: You know what, now that I think about it, maybe the earth is a bit flat. And all of a sudden, they are no longer background noise, they are front and center, you keep hearing their theories, you keep trying to prove them wrong, but it’s hard to argue with them, because they ignore all factual evidence of who you are and replace it with their own idea of what makes up your core personality. They dug out receipts from 8 years ago, when you were selfish about something or they will tell you, that self-compassion is the real conspiracy here and if you just stopped buying into it, you’d see the truth of yourself clear as day! And by the end of it, you vaguely remember what you once knew, but it's exhausting to keep reminding yourself, so you succumb to their ideas. And then, when you are at a low point, I pay you a visit again. And listen, I love you but the trip is pretty far, so I thought: Let’s not even go there this time.” I look at her. I hadn’t had to fight the conspiracy theorists for a while now. I guess they always come back.

“Not always.”, she says. Huh, I didn’t realize I said this out loud. Maybe I didn’t. Who knows how this thing works. “I promise you: for the most part, you can live your life unbothered. But yes, sometimes they come back. And when they do, you need to know how to deal with them. And the first time around, it’ll be clumsy and they will linger for quite a while and you’ll let them convince you of a silly thing or two before they leave. But luckily these fuckers aren’t very inventive. So every time they come back, they drop the same old bullshit on you and you’ll get better and better at telling them to fuck off. And at some point, you have your facts so straight, they usually don’t even bother trying.” She speaks with anger in her voice, like she is furious they even try to tell her who she is. Or maybe, she is angry for me.

“I wouldn’t try to mess with you.”, I say. She laughs. “You’ll get there.” A warmth floods my stomach and tears shoot into my eyes. “Do I?”, I sound choked up, but hopeful. She nods, smiling her kindest smile at me. “You’re a champion.” I laugh at that. I always feel like a child around this much older woman who cares so deeply for me. I wipe the tears away. I am still scared of the conspiracy theorists. But I also feel a teeny-tiny bit excited to practice telling them to go to hell.

“Do you visit others?”

“No, just you.” “Really?”

“Yes, really. God, you’re suspicious of everyone. Even yourself.”

“Can you blame me?”

She laughs, shaking her head: “No.”

“I wish you could pay the others a visit too, you know. Like the tiny little version of us, that was terrified all the time. She could have used a hug.”

“You can visit her.”

“I can?”

“Yeah. I mean not really. Not physically. It would scare the living crap out of her.”

I think about that. It probably would have scared the crap out of me to have a stranger appear in my bedroom. I was terrified of bedtime as is. “But you can picture her. With as much detail as possible. The LEGO-Pjs, the bad choppy haircut, all of it. And when you see her clearly, going through another crying fit, just sit with her. Listen to her. Give her a hug. After all, she is the one space in your head where conspiracy theories can’t reach.” Yes, I had noticed that. There is something true about her, that they just can’t explain away in their world of unkind ideas.

“I have to get going.”

“You haven’t finished your tea.”

“I had just made one for myself, when I was dragged here. I’ll see if it's still warm.”

“So I still drink tea in 2043?”

“You will always drink tea honey. No milk, heaps of sugar.” I smile down at my mug. When I look up, she is already gone.

“No milk, heaps of sugar.”, I repeat to myself and take a sip.