Caffeine divorce
What started as a teenage coffee flirtation escalated into a 600mg daily dependency. Nine days into withdrawal, I'm discovering what it means to be truly awake without being artificially wired.
Day 9 without caffeine, and my brain has finally stopped plotting my murder.
My caffeine romance began as a teenage flirtation, but transformed into full-blown addiction a decade ago when intermittent fasting became fitness gospel. Black coffee—the gym bros' breakfast of champions—seemed innocent enough. At the end of it, I was downing 1.5 liters of filter coffee daily. Roughly 600mg a day, way above recommended limits.
The wake-up call came when coffee stopped delivering its promise. My receptors, bombarded for years, simply surrendered. I chased that first-cup high with increasingly desperate doses while sleep quality plummeted and fatigue became my shadow. I couldn't get a good night's sleep, which only led to needing more coffee the next day, trapping me in a vicious spiral of dependency.
Last Monday, I cut the cord cold turkey. My body staged a full revolution—pounding headaches, muscles in revolt, and cognitive function reduced to dial-up speeds. Still dragged myself to the gym though—perhaps the wisest decision during withdrawal, forcing normality when everything felt alien.
Nine days clean, and I'm finally emerging from the fog. Coffee and I aren't necessarily finished forever—we shared some beautiful mornings. But next time, I'll dictate the terms of our relationship, not my twitchy, caffeine-starved adenosine receptors.
Remember the time when you were a kid? Just waking up in the morning and immediately ready for action? I want to be that kid again.