Chugging Coffee In A Bathroom Stall

Drinking coffee is brave. Not just in the way I do it, which admittedly is more stupid than brave, but always.

I am in treatment for an eating disorder, and here we are only allowed one cup of coffee a day, at breakfast. This does not cut it, dear reader. Just doesn’t. I need more. Not in the very typical, “I need iced coffee or I’ll be like, totally grumpy” way. No. I get up at 5:30 a.m. and your girl is tired.

And so I revert to what I ever so fondly refer to as Hood Rat Shit.

I order single-use packets of instant coffee online, under the guise of a necessary purchase, and use hot water from the bathroom sink. I chug it in a stall as fast as my sweet, sweet throat can take. And it feels good. And I’m awake.

That sounds crazy–and it is. But I think it’s brave too.

I could sleep through this whole experience. I could collapse on a couch and sleep so I don’t feel, or think. But I don’t. I am awake and trying and shaking and I have to pee. I am present in my body, which is extremely difficult for me.

Oblivion is attractive. It takes us away from ourselves–which can be good. A good fix of oblivion is necessary when we are healing. And don’t get me wrong, I love sleep; I do it every night, in fact. Not in my bed, but still alone. How does this make sense? Well, that is an injustice we’ll explore another time.

I think a three o’clock coffee chugged in a bathroom stall gives the universe a big Fuck You.

I am awake. I am feeling. Try me, bitch. I dare you.

I wrote a poem about this feeling. Read it if you like.

I love you.

 

To sleep is to fold

The weight of things

And pass through with

One Swift Blink

 

To make the coffee

Is a kind of

Defiant act

 

We will God

 

Another Another Another

You say.

Give me another reason

To not want to stay.

 

 

I raise my mug to you, dear reader. Cheers.