It’s been over two months now. I’ll admit it—I never thought something like this could happen to me. To me. I mean, I’m different. Special. No one can just tie me down or trap me like that. I know exactly when to say: that’s it, no more. I’ve had enough.
Honestly?
I don’t even want to stop.
It’s pulled me in, tied me up, wrapped itself around me.
And it feels so good.
Every morning, every noon, after lunch, and at night—right before I fall asleep.
I wouldn’t say I live for it or that I’m shaking for the next dose—no, nothing like that. It’s just… I can’t imagine my life without it anymore. Or rather, without them. There are three of them. Three completely different personalities. Each serves its own purpose.
The first one, my morning dose, is what gets me out of bed. Really gets me out of bed—not just dragging myself out under the covers and stumbling into the day in whatever mood. Even though I have a whole hour to myself each morning—a slow breakfast, the ritual of savoring my hot coffee, made special with a dash of hazelnut milk and a pinch of Christmas spice—this is different. It gives my day a whole new color. A loving, fragrant, floral kind of frame.
The second one is essential for my post-lunch siesta. That one varies—my mood decides which one I choose. There was a time when this was the most important one of all. I expected it to perform miracles. And the miracle… it did happen.
Whether I truly owe it to the second dose or to the deep, growing desire within me, I’ll never know. But maybe it doesn’t matter. What I do know is this: without that midday moment, nothing even begins. Sometimes it’s so perfect I doze off—and I don’t wake for half an hour.
But afterward, it’s like being reborn. The day gets a second wind, my imagination takes flight, my energy shoots through the roof. I don’t even need coffee in the afternoon.
By the evening, I’m worn out from all the buzzing. Not collapsed or anything dramatic—just… depleted.
I couldn’t do anything remotely intellectual after dark—let alone physical.
The last dose is for winding down. I never used to need it. But now… I can’t imagine going without it.
At that point, my mind expands—just a little—like it’s thirsty for one last flight of freedom. And then, somewhere mid-flight… everything fades to black.
One morning, for technical reasons, I couldn’t start the day with it. It hit me harder than I expected. I was surprised myself. I consoled myself with the thought that the midday one would feel even better.
Then the courier texted me: he’d arrive between eleven and three. Sure, you could say: oh please, anyone could’ve opened the door for him. But he calls before he arrives.
By the time I remembered the secret hiding spot where packages are placed when we’re not home, I was already drowning in self-pity.
By the evening, I was so rattled by the whole day I didn’t even want it anymore. Just out of spite.
Before going to bed, I made sure my headphones were fully charged—nothing could get in the way of my morning meditation. The soft, velvety-voiced man who whispers in my ear that once again, I’m going to have a magical day—after greeting me with:
“Good morning, you beautiful soul.”