I first discovered coffee during my first year of university.

Like most people at the beginning of a relationship, I had an idealised notion of what coffee was and was excited about the positive impact that it could have on my life.

As far as a I was concerned, coffee was a magical drink that bestowed increased levels productivity and energy upon those who consumed it.

When I first started drinking coffee, I metabolised the caffeine content quite slowly and the energy that it provided was released into my body in a steady and controlled manner.

However, over time my body became more efficient at breaking coffee down.

As a result, the caffeine was released at a much faster rate which generated an intense surge of energy that I didn’t quite know how to process.

My brain, struggling to cope with the sudden onset of excess energy, panicked and transformed it into anxiety.

After around 20 minutes, my energy levels would drop dramatically.

For a while, I thought that the best way to combat this dramatic slump was to simply drink more coffee.

In hindsight, this probably wasn’t the best approach – after all, attempting to treat a problem with the source of the problem itself tends not to be most effective way to solve it.

For a while, I was trapped in a caffeine-obsessed circle that fuelled itself seemingly indefinitely.

Coffee became a dark force that haunted my personal galaxy.

By the end of my degree, I had been to Starbucks so many times that I had encountered pretty much every possible misspelt variation of my name in existence.

At this point, I realised that my relationship with coffee was becoming quite destructive and knew that it was time to quit – you know it’s time to end things when the other party can’t even get your name right.

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