A Tea Addicts Journal: Part Two

I would like to remind everyone that this is fiction.

Part Two-

The Depressed Mask

I hate myself.

It is a stunning and painful realization to come to.

It's not even a "I wish I could do this better". 

It is a "I believe the whole world would be better off if I vanished."

I look at my ceramic teapot and sigh.

It has had the same tea and leaves in it for a week.

There is probably mold to no end.

I gag and take it to the sink.

Yep...

And it smells like death.

I dump the contents down the dispose-all and turn it on.

Then I dump in a lemon, quartered, to kill the ungodly stench.

Then I fill the teapot with hot water and bleach.

Luckily the teapot is already white.

My whole tea nook is horridly messy.

My water boiler is empty and on its side on the hardwood floor.

I had knocked it over after emptying it, and I didn't even have the motivation to put it upright.

I just wanted to go to bed and pull the covers over my head.

I didn't want tea.

I didn't want food.

I hadn't had a bath in 4 days.

Hadn't changed my night gown in 5.

I probably smell just as bad as that teapot had.

I walk to the bathroom.

I start running the water.

I climb into the tub, immediatly tucking my knees to my chin.

The water was as hot as it would go.

I secretly hoped that it would burn me and leave blisters.

Pain was good.

It meant I hadn't killed myself.

Maybe I should make some tea after my bath.

I turn off the water.

I scrub until my skin was red and looked like I had been trying to scrape my skin off.

I washed my hair three times with shampoo.

I even used my conditioner.

I looked in the mirror as I dried off.

All I could see were flaws.

All I could think was how ugly what I saw there was.

I put on a clean cotton nightgown.

I pick my water boiler up off the floor and fill it.

I plug it in, turn it on, and wait.

Maybe a kid movie will cheer me up.

Maybe that one with the blue alien that nobody likes and the little girl with no friends.

That one has a happy ending, right?

I put the dvd in the player.

I turn on the tv.

I push play.

The water's boiling.

I pour water into the gravity steeper.

I put a little puck of cheap-ish raw puerh into it.

It sank, like it always does, and I watched the little girl put a voodoo doll into a pickle jar with a bunch of forks and shake it.

I understand her motivations.

Many people have good intentions.

But lots of times they just make things worse.

"Go for a walk! The sunshine will be good for your mood."

How could I go for a walk when it is a struggle to just drag myself from my bed?

I cried a lot during the movie, especially when the little girl got captured by the big alien and it looked like the blue alien wasn't going to save her.

When the dvd stopped, I pulled one of the couch blankets up to my chin, and turned to face the back of the couch.

I don't think I ever drank that tea.

A Tea-Addict's Journal PART ONE

This is that little booky thing I am writing, I will be posting a new installment every Friday.

It is fiction.

Part One-

The Apologetic Mask

The tea tasted off this morning. 

I don’t know if that was due to the work that had to be done today, or not. 

Cardamom and ginger-spiked Nilgiri black tea with fat-free evaporated milk, and for once, real sugar. 

I was preparing for a shipment that was to enter the US at any time now. 

I guess when they say “slow boat from China” they aren’t kidding. 

I was already itching to make another order, and I hadn’t even received the first one yet. 

But the spring teas were starting to be harvested, and any week now, I’d receive word that “Yes we do have that Darjeeling from Namring estate in.” and “Yes, the new sheng pu’erhs for this year will be ready to ship any day now.” “Yes, you can pre-order the Jin Xuan oolong for this season, would you prefer scented, or unscented?”

For most people, this might be an easy choice. 

My problem is that I like them all. 

The mellow smoothness of Darjeeling, the bite of a young sheng pu’erh, the creamy milky-ness of a true Jin Xuan. 

There was also so much more to my habit than this. 

Beyond the drink itself was what it was presented, prepared, proffered, and eventually drunk in.

 Pots, Gaiwan, cups, bowls, mugs, and the occasional saucer were scattered around my little nook of a tea room. 

The only pity was, there was only one chair. 

Because of that, the tea room felt very lonely and isolated despite being less than two steps away from the living room, where my husband entertains any friends who come over. 

I wished it was a room I could close off. 

A room I could have poufs and bean bags strewn around, comfortable chairs everywhere, yet still with a focus on tea. 

Because despite all of my beloved husband’s efforts, I was lonely. 

Sad isn’t it, I had most everything I could ever want, but I was lonely. 

Lonely and afraid. 

Afraid to reach out, afraid to try. 

I had been burned by people so often that I had completely given up on making friends.

It's hard, being different. 

Ever since I was a young girl I have been ostracized for being "weird". 

It was everything from a bully "accidently dropping my textbook in the chem lab sink full of formaldehyde, to them slamming a locker door in my face. 

I was lucky if I didn't have to replace my glasses every six months. 

You get jaded in that kind of situation.

 I got to the point where I only didn't have my guard up around maybe three people.

 Only three people I felt I could trust enough to where I wouldn't have to wear that mask.

Everyone has one, a mask, I mean. 

Some people have several. The mask you wear when the boss tells you to come in on a Saturday. The mask you wear when your mother starts talking about your weight.

My mask is very simple. A fake, hollow smile that doesn't reach to my cheeks, let alone my eyes. One corner higher than the other, almost a smirk.

I have a pretty tough outer shell. I hold in emotions until the little bottle I keep them in bursts under pressure. I make sure not to burst around others. 

You wouldn't like me when I explode.

I say things I don't mean.

Things that are purposefully built to hurt feelings.

Things that would make even Lisa Lampanelli say "That crossed the line, WAAY back there".

I don't mean to.

But sometimes, that's the only way to get the hurt out.

Maybe that makes me the biggest bully of them all.

If I still believed in a god, I would probably ask "why don't you fix me?"

But that doesn't fix anything.

So I have been trying to fix things.

With tea.

With meditation.

With therapy.

With medications that more often than not make me feel ill.

But that's better than just letting it sit where it is, right?

Back to the tea.

I figure I should dump it and start over.

Maybe that blend with the lavender and jasmine.

So, I brew that.

It still doesn't feel right.

I set the mug on my tea table and start doing what maybe I should have been doing all along.

Writing apologies that I will never show anyone, and never send.

      Husband.

                 I am sorry I was such an insufferable person last night. I should not have argued about taking my medications on time. I was wrong. I hope you can forgive my rudeness and impudence. Please don't hate me.

               

            Your,

              Wife

   Sera-

             I am sorry I did not get the dishes done. I have no excuse, but I hope you can forgive me for not taking care of my responsibilities in a timely manner.

             Kara

I did that for about an hour.

They were not all grave offenses, and I had already verbally apologized for most of them.

It made me realize my mistakes, I guess, to write them down.