My name is Sarah, and I am an addict. I know it is probably shocking to hear the bold truth, stated so harshly in the bright light of day. Most of us keep our baser selves hidden from public examination, but I am made of sterner stuff. I am willing to expose myself to public ridicule in the effort to make the world a kinder place for other addicts similarly situated.
Addiction is not something that happens in a weekend. It is insidious, sneaking up on you when you are half asleep, and wrapping its aromatic tentacles around your taste buds like a cozy sweater in the winter chill. It sidles up beside you and makes you think it is your friend; even if you're feeling low, you always feel better when you have had your fix.
Addiction starts slowly, unintentionally. No one sets out intending to become dysfunctional without a stimulant. It begins, perhaps, by going with a friend to their supplier. You walk in, and your senses are assaulted with the the scent and the aroma of the demon addictant. It draws you in, your nose filling with the perfume, taste buds already salivating from the delectable adventure just ahead.
After that, you find yourself making excuses for going on your own. You meet friends there, because it's... easier. You stop and pick up a little something for your spouse, your best friend, anyone you can think of to draw them in as well, and while you are there, you get a little something for yourself. Next thing you know, you are sneaking in without bothering to make the excuse, throwing furtive glances at the other customers, hoping that no one you know will spot you in the den of iniquity.
Gradually you lose your shame, and you boldly stride in, done with the apologies. You are ready to embrace your intoxicating lover, the one that never lets you down. On the contrary, it makes your whole day work, and without it, you can no longer cope. You are not addicted, of course, you are simply treating yourself to something you enjoy. You can stop any time. There is nothing wrong with it. It's not like you are hurting anyone. There are health benefits, you know you read that somewhere. So really, you're just taking care of yourself.
Then, one day, it happens. You don't make that stop, and you are struck down with a pounding, pulsing, brain crushing pressure that threatens to remove your eyes from their sockets. You try to deny the truth to yourself, even as you rush to the nearest source. No longer consumed with quality, you will stop at the first distributor you see, anything to assuage the beast that has taken control of your life. You are experiencing the dread outcome of all addictions, the feeling of withdrawal, and you will do anything to avoid feeling like that any longer.
It seems that all the celebrities are going to expensive and exclusive spas for addiction treatments these days. It's almost a fad; everyone has a problem. The wealth and the fame aren't intoxicating enough, they still have to self-medicate, because their voracious appetite for attention doesn't fill the empty space inside their soul where they have to face the world alone.
But the addiction I suffer from doesn't gain sympathy from anyone. It doesn't require in-patient treatment. There is no 12 step program, and there is no national organization dedicated to helping people repair the ravages of their lives that are a result of this legal addiction. What is the despot that holds me fast in its clutches? I am addicted to coffee, that olfactory riot of aroma that jump starts my day, and stays with me long into the wee hours if I am so foolish as to indulge past noon.
Coffee is a jealous lover. It seduces you at first then rules you with an iron fist, which is liable to come crashing down upon your head if you try to escape. When you start your day with its sensual scent, it makes you feel happy and fulfilled, and when you fail to respect your desperate need, it makes you wish you were dead, or at least unconscious. Which is what you will be, without your caffeine kick to get you moving.
There are a lot of vices waiting to ensnare you in life. People self-medicate to solve their problems, and they indulge in a drugged reality because it takes away their pain, or makes them feel better about themselves. They gamble themselves into penury, they drink themselves into liver failure, they smoke themselves into the casket from lung cancer or emphysema or heart disease. The plethora of hard core illegal drugs, from heroin to crystal meth, to a teenager huffing hair spray, can all present life threatening consequences.
When you take that perspective, coffee is a pretty healthy passion. I refuse to abandon anything that makes me feel so much better about my life with so little negative impact. It's a tiny addiction, as they go. No need to mention how it has, on occasion, forced me to the grocery store at 3 a.m. to get a refill of the roasted berry that I love, because I can't face the day without having some of its liquid essence.
So if you see me wandering aimlessly, dazed look in my eyes, and blank expression on my face, please take pity on me, don't despise me. I am a victim. The best thing you can do for me is to buy me a cup of coffee, and join me for a little conversation to talk me through the crisis. At least coffee is cheap.
