Illustration by Holly Randall

I have a confession to make, and it's sort of embarrassing. No, I can't possibly · OK. I have a drinking problem ÷ a coffee-drinking problem, that is. I am a caffeine addict.

I've been late to work and class on numerous occasions in order to get my fix.

I sometimes know halfway through the line that I can't possibly make it in time to where I'm going, but I reason that after already advancing so far to the counter, I cannot turn back.

I've even missed class because I knew I simply could not sit through the entire lecture without taking a sip, feeling that euphoria.

I know I need help, but I'm unwilling to give up my substance abuse.

They say that recognition of a problem is the first step toward rehabilitation, and I'm proud to say I've come a long way since last May's triple-shot-espresso mornings, afternoons and even evenings.

But I have miles to go before I sleep (if, in fact, I ever sleep with all this caffeine in my system). Sometimes I fear that my kidneys have been so emotionally and physically traumatized they will ship out with a self-inflicted wound just to escape me.

Still, I drink. And I drink. Then, when I start to feel my ever-present sleep deprivation creeping up on me again, I buy a chai. You know, self-bargaining.

I know what you're thinking: "Drinking is what the down-and-out do;" "Why would you be hurting yourself this way, when you've got so much future ahead of you?" and "Well, that sure does explain a lot."

Caffeine addiction is surrounded by misconceptions.

Anyone can fall victim under the right circumstances. Sometimes outward signs aren't obvious to loved ones, and the addiction can become acute and almost insurmountable before drinkers even realize they are ruled by their cravings.

Sabrina Noble Columnist

Or have I?

Curious as to how widespread this problem is, I decided to ask around. I was shocked to find that coffee addiction is a campus (and I'd assume world) epidemic.

As it turns out, every user has a preferred dealer. Personally, I go to the Modern Languages

Common Grounds because I'm far too dependent to walk anywhere outside my radius of classes.

It gives me a sense of security, and maybe even an illusion that what I'm doing is not so wrong.

The other day, a classmate stood in my line (for I have that paranoid, territorial sense about it), trying to look nonchalant.

But I could tell he wasn't from around these parts, that he was an outsider. So I asked him where he usually went for coffee.

A bit startled, he told me that he didn't usually come here, that he usually went to a guy named Stan far from Modern Languages, where he could enjoy the anonymity.

He said that Stan had always treated his brother real well, and so now he also did business with him.

This morning he had been unusually pressed for time and had been forced to buy elsewhere, but he really only trusted Stan to give him the good stuff.

I nodded; that's exactly the way I feel about my supplier.

Sometimes he cuts me a deal, and we've established a rapport. I always know ÷ or am pretty sure ÷ exactly where my coffee's coming from. "Don't worry," I told the newcomer. "They'll take care of you here."

But, of course, the new guy had no intention of changing his affiliation.

That's the way of the addict.

Like any other drug, coffee is overpriced. Profit margins move those rich Colombian beans.

All dealers know we're too hooked to haggle over the rising costs of a cup o' Joe, and they work us with a smile. I've been known to run through my meal plan by March in securing my daily dosage, and I know I'm not alone.

I've yet to rob my parents or pawn my jewelry, but I'm sure that, without intervention, it'll only be a matter of time.

What I'm trying to say, I guess, is please don't end up like me.

If I could do it all over again, this would not be the best part of waking up.

And the last drop? It's never the last drop, my friends. Never.

Sabrina Noble is a senior majoring in English and creative writing. She has changed names to protect the guilty. She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.