I used to be addicted to coffee. A hardcore addiction. In high school, one of my teachers let me use his coffeemaker as long as I brought my own coffee and filters, so I started having that second cup (after my morning cup at home, before driving to school) in the afternoon everyday. But sometimes, we would run out supplies and I would forget to bring more. On those days, I would get the shakes and sweats, I would get terrible migraines (as if there’s any other kind), and would even vomit. Eventually, I made the connection between these two things. After that, I rarely missed my second cup.

This need became part of the image I projected both to myself and others and I had no desire to quit.

But quit I did, but entirely accidentally.

After my kidney transplant, I was on an IV for both nutrition (which is to say, a steady drip of sugar water) and pain. So, during the several days when I would normally be going through withdrawal hell, my doctor was keeping me on painkillers.

So here we are,  more than a month after my surgery, and I no longer need coffee or caffeine to get through the day. None at all.

The thing is, I kind of miss it. I was such a huge part of life. As I mentioned, it was part of my self-image, but it was also a structure to my day.

I am not so foolish as to deliberately get my addiction back, but I am starting to make an effort to drink more coffee (mostly from one of two coffeehouses near my apartment – Peregrine Espresso and Port City Java – the first one is where I go for the best coffee, the second for when I want to bring my laptop, a book, or a journal and relax in a comfy chair).