Citation: Misskyedid. "Hell On Two Feet: An Experience with Caffeine (exp8620)". Erowid.org. Nov 28, 2001. erowid.org/exp/8620
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I used to be more of a caffeine addict than I could ever imagine now. The substance seems so benign. It's legal, it's been around almost as long as civilization, and it is associated with one of man's greatest obsessions: staying awake to get things done.
I can recall the days of high school. It all started about my sophomore year. I'd always been a coffee drinker here and there, but when my need to take control of my sleep became more important (somehow wanting to get all of my schoolwork done, though it rarely happened), I began to increase to something upwards of two pots a night. I'd usually drink it slowly (it was from a full filter of packed joe); times would happen though where I'd do it much too fast. I hated it in the same instance I was loving it. I was at the very least able to get most of my schoolwork done. The longer this went on though, it started getting worse.
By the time late 98 came around, I was addicted to Vivarin. It was an everyday thing. I didn't think it was that bad until one day I found myself in complete psychotic revelry at work.
I got there, pissed as all hell. I wanted to scream and break things. I was slamming the video drawers shut, slamming doors. A couple of times I (with the thought in my mind of 'here, it's your job') tossed some trash at my coworker to throw away. The only benefit was probably that I was moving fast. I don't know how long I'd been awake, but the caffeine had taken control of my mind and turned me into some kind of raving lunatic. I angered my coworker because I was being such an asshole; she left the dept. for a while. I felt bad so I toned it down a bit. But I'll never forget the heart racing, the mind feeling like it was swimming, and the worst thing of all: the stomach that felt like it had been filled with boiling hot murcury.
Later that day I went home; I went right to my bedroom, sat down on the edge of my bed, and instantly passed out. I awoke a little later not feeling much better, realizing I was still wearing my contacts. My eyes were as unhappy with me as my body at that moment.
That experience caused me to cut myself off from Vivarin. By the end of that two year escapade, not to mention with help from severe depression, I'd lost a hundred pounds. From 285 to 175. I never took it again, it actually scared me to look at the stuff. My coffee intake has never been that bad again. If only there were a way to get off the addiction. But what does one expect when drinking the world's most legal, and lethal, drug since kindergarten?
I feel that caffeine is not dangerous in small quantities, and the benefits are okay. Anything is like that. The operative word is 'SMALL QUANTITIES.' When the cup took control, I was sorry.
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