Addicted To Coffee?

I've heard of a philosophy that everyone is addicted to something. Some people's addictions are more obvious and taboo, like alcohol, cigarettes and binge eating. But other people's addictions...they're less pronounced. There are people who are addicted to anger, the red hot outbursts that keep them sane. Others become obsessed with reading, gaining a new high from every turn of the page. I don't know if I think this philosophy is true, but if it is, then I know my addiction. My addiction is coffee.

Unlike some addicts, I can actually pin point the moment my addiction started. Giggly and sleepy on my fourteenth new years eve, my close friend dragged me into a Starbucks to keep us awake. I was skeptical, coffee had always been bitter, whenever my parents had given me a sip I spat it out. But the moment the grande mocha my friend had ordered us graced my lips, everything changed. "This isn't so bad." I remember saying to her as we headed back towards a concert we had been attending. "Yeah right? It works wonders to you'll see!" She had smirked. And worked wonders it did, with every sip I took the drink became more sweet and I grew more awake. My friend and I raced around, giggling and screaming only as teenage girls can, snapping selfies well after midnight, when moments before I was half asleep. This friend eventually drifted from me, I saw her less and less until I didn't see her at all. Coffee however, has never left me.

After my first mocha, I began to crave it more and more. Once every few weeks at first, when I needed a pickup for my morning shift at the local daycare. Or saw an advertisement for a pretty looking holiday latte. Soon seasons were marked by visits to my local coffee shop. Pumpkin spiced lattes in the fall, Peppermint mocha for the holidays and Smore frappachinos in the heat of summer. Then I got my mom hooked on it, she had to try Starbucks after months of me raving about it. Now we have mother daughter Starbucks's sessions at least once a week. When I became an upperclassmen I was allowed to leave school during study halls and lunch periods. Some of my best work was churned out by the window seat of the Starbucks closest to my school. (This in contrast to the work I did in the dusty old classroom of my high school...as in I did not get work done in my actual school.)

Soon coffee became a security blanket for me. My dad would pick me up a latte after dinner to sooth me as I sobbed about girl drama. I was rewarded with it after finishing the SAT's. Some of my best memories were forged around coffee, my best friend and I sprinting into our local Starbucks to pick up my mobile order, laughing like maniacs a mere five minutes before our summer camp was to start. Sipping coffee with my mom while marveling at how different school had been back in her day. Smiling at the baristas I came to know rather well.

My friends now marvel at how I'm able to chug three venti lattes in one day, with little to no effect on my energy level. Hell, I'll gladly drink one before bedtime, I find it soothing. Whenever I am stressed, on the brink of a panic attack or drowning in sadness, coffee is there to reel me in. Sooth my spirit and remind me there is good in this sometimes bitter world. If coffee vanished tomorrow, I think I'd go insane. I can admit my addictions, and I don't blame myself for them...which is why I cringe when I hear the phrase 'deadbeat addicts' thrown around by politicians or peers. Everyone needs something, something to lessen their sadness.