I wrote this during University studies, when I was downing triple-shot espressos just to get through my classes. And I'm brewing a mocca java as I type. I hope you enjoy it!
My name is Glory and I am a coffee addict. I must confess that I very much enjoy my drug habit. The truth is, I’ve been a coffee user for as long as I can remember. My father was a coffee pusher and gave me coffee whenever I wanted, without asking for my mother’s consent. I can recall the discreet locations where my father and I would enjoy catching a buzz together: in the garage, out in the field, or even in the machinery shed. By the time I was fifteen I was very open with my coffee habit. I could sit at our breakfast table with my whole family, and drink my coffee in full view. In fact some others in my family had also picked up the habit. It wasn’t a secret anymore.
When I reached adulthood I discovered that there were people just like me. There were even restaurants that served it. For sixty cents a hit I could feed my addiction without having to prepare it myself. I found that classier locations offered much better quality coffee for a higher price. I started to purchase stronger varieties and I was more inclined to associate with people who also drank coffee. On nights when we couldn’t afford to spend money on the prepared coffee we would take turns mixing our own. I was good at blending just the right amount of coffee and water together. The hit would be faster when smaller amounts of water were used, but some of my friends preferred a slower effect, so they would add water. I was out of control but I denied it.
One morning I got up the usual time of day for my first hit. I had two cups before I felt very strong stomach pains. I had gotten used to the hand tremors, loss of appetite, and occasional insomnia. This was very different, though, and knowing my father had at one time experienced similar side effects, I asked him what was happening. That’s when he told me I was addicted and I would be ruining my body if I continued my reckless habit. He insisted that I get help for it, and he said he would be there for me. I thought he was being hypocritical, until I realized that he had been warned, too, so he had become more responsible in his coffee drinking. The choice was mine: I could go on impulsively drinking large amounts of coffee, or I could show some control and get my life straightened out. I decided to take his advice and cut down.
The withdrawal symptoms are unpleasant. I’ve had headaches, muscle pain, nausea, and fatigue. That’s the price I’m paying for over twelve years of coffee use. I am learning to be more responsible and use coffee less frequently. Some of my friends have also learned to control their addictions but some haven’t. Whenever I can I tell them my story. Hopefully they will relate and I will have helped them on the road to recovery. It is a gradual process, but once I was able to admit that I was addicted, I knew I wanted out. I am in control now.