If you've known me for even 5 minutes, you know I love coffee. You know this because I'm either a) carrying a cup with me, or b) have mentioned that I'm in desperate need of a cup. If you've known me for longer, you know I'm a straight-up caffeine addict.

It all started with a grande mocha from Starbucks. I chugged the sugary drink in record time to make it through a dance recital after pulling an all-nighter. I felt the jitters. I felt the energy. I felt the happiness. I was hooked.

From there I progressed to coffee or tea every morning, often with a lot of milk, and then delved even deeper into my coffee addiction. Black coffee became my go-to. I grew to enjoy being able to taste the different notes in light vs dark roast, using the coffee as my hobby rather than just a crutch to keep my eyes open and my brain firing.

With this newfound enjoyment for coffee came a newfound enjoyment for coffee shops as well. It was no longer just about the taste of the drink, but about the atmosphere I drank it in. Did the cafe give me a ceramic mug to keep at my table? Was the music hip? Calming? Comfy seating? Friendly barista? The check-list goes on.

There's something about waking up in the winter and sitting on a comfy couch with a steaming mug of coffee in your hands; warming you internally and externally. Even more magical is the feeling when the caffeine hits your system and you know that for the moment, and hopefully for the day, you're invincible.

At some point this love became my vice. I no longer felt magical as I downed my fourth, fifth, and sixth cups of coffee trying to make it through the day. I felt sluggish no matter what. The atmosphere of the coffee shop did little for me; I was barely awake enough to take it all in. The experience became rather mechanical: just get the coffee in hand, drink, repeat.

I recognized the problem and tried to quit. I was successful for maybe two weeks, and then that tabooed second-first sip was like what I would imagine a relapsing heroin addict experiences. Why did I ever give this up in the first place? I was once again invincible.

I've tried many times since then to quit again, never successfully. This has taken a toll on my confidence in myself. Am I really not stronger than a 5 inch mug filled with some brown water? At this point in my life I've accepted that no, I am not.

But that doesn't mean I'm a failure! It means I'm human. I'm human and I enjoy something. Because once again, coffee gives me joy. I am more productive and focused when I do my homework in a booth at a wooden table with a handcrafted latte within reach-- in fact, I've written most of my articles for The Odyssey in this fashion. I am happier when I get to take a half hour in the morning to sit and ease into the day with coffee warming my chest. I have a goal when I travel, to visit a non-commercial cafe and experience the local coffee. I have a bucket list even, to keep me trying new drinks from new companies.

So no, I won't be trying to cut out caffeine from my life again. And no, I won't be considering myself a failure or a slave to the chemical because of this. Instead I'm going to recognize all the wonders of coffee, how it has given me a passion, how it serves as a way to bond with people, and of course, how it gets me through my days.