I have become dependent on a devilish, yet lifesaving concoction — coffee.

But as I indulge in my essential daily treat, I cannot help but notice that others’ drinks appear less diluted. My seasonal pumpkin spice latte seems childish in comparison with the dirt-colored, gritty potion of those around me, and it’s infuriating. Despite my inability to tolerate black coffee, I often find myself ordering one. I want to convince others that I, too, can take my coffee black. I want them to think that my intestinal strength is so great I can drink this battery acid-like concoction daily.

Beyond an obsession with upping my coffee tolerance, I tend to forgo the comfortable and opt to test my ability to withstand hardship in many aspects of my day. I neglect the cream of life that makes my black coffee days a bit easier — I decline offers for tutoring, put myself on diets, post smiling pictures on Instagram even when I’m feeling cripplingly anxious, the list goes on. I am fixated on…



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