Shame.

Is what I feel.

It started the way it always started.

The devil in me whispering:

‘You can handle one small cup.’

And then when one cup IMMEDIATELY becomes three, four, five or more cups the devil goes:

‘Only today. You had a headache today. And the coffee took the edge off of that. Tomorrow you abstain again.’

Yeah right.

The feelings of shame are about as bad as the withdrawal symptoms.

On coffee all the negative side effect came back.

On coffee I am in a state of mild euphoria, but… I can’t get anything done, I can’t focus, am restless, I can’t read. Am like pleasantly hypnotized. I feel trapped, but it’s soothing sort of trap.

The downsides to the closest I can get to bliss quickly outweigh the juicy feeling of being out of it, of being in a trance.

I aimlessly wander through the apartment. I pick up a book. Read half a sentence and go do something else. For ten seconds.

My bulwarks against other addictions break.

On coffee I can teach, I can even prepare material for classes and I can do household chores, and I can write a blog post here and there, but I can’t focus on more serious writing. Not for longer than a minute or two.

In the morning I wake up destroyed. My brain feels like somebody has tried to flatten it. It’s tingling. If it could produce sounds it would be screeching.

I am awake, but without the coffee I feel like am about to drop dead. Without the coffee I want to drop dead.

So.

Here we are again.

Day two of no coffee.

I have already been able to focus on reading a book for a few pages. Something I have been unable to do for a few weeks.

I like to pick symbolic dates for trying to control my own behavior.

I picked the first day of the Battle Of Shiloh (1862) to quit coffee… again.

On the same day I decided to also stop watching movies and series. I can watch movies and series when am retired. The video games also had to go. Partly because I have finally sucked the fucking marrow out of the fewer than 10 games I have been playing for the last two decades of my life.

I am so fed up with myself and my addictive, escapist behavior that I have put reminders everywhere to not do this anymore.

I also – again!- quit drinking alcohol on the 29th of March.

The shame of being unable to control my own behavior feels like a permanent kick in the stomach.

What’s also driving me up the wall is how I tend to disappear in the most useless and seemingly most random rabbit holes.

Last night I spent HOURS trying to figure out if Kurt Cobain had stolen some riffs from other bands, if so, how many, and if so, what should I make of that?

Hours!

I just cannot accept that anymore.

John Lennon may have said ‘time you enjoy wasting isn’t wasted’, but if afterwards you feel like a moron and an out of control self-sabotaging junkie, then I do think that time could have been spent better.

Here I am, world, am a fucking addict and though I manage to keep the ship afloat, a lot of the time I am unable to control myself and slip into the most thorough form of escapism to simply

not be me anymore.