icon caret-left icon caret-right instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads question-circle facebook circle twitter circle linkedin circle instagram circle goodreads circle pinterest circle

The Fuel

Decaf Please!

Pre-sexual assaults , I caffeinated thrice a day, nursing my same cup of coffee while pouring fresh dozes of it every four hours. Fast forward twenty years, as I adapted to my post-traumatic-stress and depression, I nurtured my mind with the same flavor but oh so different chemical compounds. It wasn't my choice, it somehow found me. Thanks to the deceit of my favorite baristas.  


I thought it was coffee, but it was decaf. The same effect of the jolt, with lesser emotional roller coaster. Cowardice for the caffeine enthusiasts, but I was not ashamed of it. I purposely told every Starbucks barista for it, and even with the occasional cold brew, I felt less guilty. I didn't hurt anyone, just kicking a knotch up my day. Why mess with a good thing? A little treat for a traumatic woman meant a blissful satisfaction that cured today's emotional problems.


If I forgot it, I felt it, and I'd ask for another cup. Somehow, letting them deceive me felt good. I wondered why I loved it so much, because I only like it with 2 percent milk and no sugar. There was so sweet details about it, instead it's just plain. But, it helped me cope. It didn't change my situation, but it changed my thought process, and that changed my attitude in life. 


For this my fifteen minutes of free write, I've rambled about nonsense to some, but it truly did made my day to be honest and have the same taste with less crazyness. It might not be a big deal, but it was, to me. Maybe this blog helped no one, because it gave a close and personal look of my life through my eyes, but when I created it, I hoped it helped at least one person, even a little. 


Next time, no coffee, but decaf only.


Just write.

Be the first to comment