I tried it for the first time my sophomore year of high school. I had stayed up past 3 a.m. the previous night (an unprecedented occurrence) finishing an essay on American expansion entitled "Westward Ho!"
I was actually really excited about my paper, but could barely keep my eyes open the next morning. Not only was I incredibly exhausted, but my forehead throbbed as well. I panicked. I couldn't sit in school for almost eight hours with a blinding headache.
"Try some coffee," my dad suggested. "It'll wake you up and help your headache." I cringed. The only time I had tried coffee was a few years back. I had taken a sip from my mom's mug and found it absolutely repellent. But I thought for a moment. That was a few years ago; maybe my taste buds had changed. And wasn't my mom's coffee cold by the time I had tried it?
"Okay," I told my dad. "I'm ready to try it." He made me a mug and then handed me milk and sugar. Yet for reasons that still elude me, I felt compelled to drink it black. I drank about three-quarters of it, hoping for my headache to ease. It wasn't spectacular. But it was manageable and I was determined to stay awake.
History was my first period class, and the caffeine had not yet kicked in. I proudly placed "Westward Ho!" on my teacher's desk then collapsed into my seat. The lights seemed unusually bright. "Mr. Buckley," I asked, "Is there anyway you could dim the lights?" He glanced at me, curled up in my sweatpants and t-shirt. "Are you hung-over? No, you can't dim them." I was momentarily crushed, but luckily, I did feel a second wind by about 11 a.m.
The homework became more plentiful as sophomore year continued. I worked late into the night, and drank coffee at least three or four mornings a week. I continued drinking well into my junior year.
Yet my coffee dependency came to an unfortunate halt during the fall of my senior year. I'm not going to elaborate, but let's just say I developed some plumbing issues and it really irritated my system.
Suddenly coffee was out of the question. I panicked again, but for a different reason this time. What was I going to do without coffee? I needed those hours at night to do finish my work, and I needed to pay attention during class. I cried a little bit on the inside.
"You'll just have to start getting to sleep earlier," my mom offered. "Be as productive as you can in the evening so you can go to bed at a reasonable hour." That seemed logical enough. And really, I didn't have a choice. I tried to get to bed by around 1:30 a.m. It was painful at first - I'd stumble downstairs and reach for the sad little water pitcher on the counter. I had this theory that if I stayed really hydrated I'd somehow be okay.
I'm happy to say that my teeth lightened and my stomach improved once I stopped the coffee and starting drinking tons of water.
But I still wish I could drink it. My roommate last year was on the crew team and drank at least two cups a day before heading to class. My roommate this year just told me that she bought a huge latte this morning so she could be alert and productive today.
Sometimes I get jealous of what feels like everyone around me. I watch my classmates freely postpone their fatigue while I have to carry it around with me all day, sometimes tend to it, and when pressure is high, try to overcome it. It's exhausting.
But quitting coffee really has forced me to take better care of myself. I've learned to listen to my body and go to bed when I need to. Also I've developed quite the addiction to water.
Yet I get wistful sometimes when I see the long line of students at Caf?? Q. Occasionally I shuffle closer; maybe I'd want a blueberry muffin or slice of crumb cake. But I always end up realizing that I don't want either; I just want to pretend for a moment that I can still drink coffee. I sigh and walk away from the line: there's no place for me on it anymore.
