Coffee With A Cynic

I sit, staring blankly at the dull interior of an old coffee house, filled with old bookshelves full of meaningless material, no doubt. Behind my jaded eyes lies an unimaginable pain, something that, even if I explained, they would not understand.

I am dying.

Not in the way that the old man passes in his sleep, or in the way that the soldier dies from the merciful bullet, and neither in the way that a sickness as insidious as cancer takes a child before it has a chance to live. No, I'm dying in the worst type of way, for I'm alive, but I'm not living.

Day by day I sit around lethargically, or lie in a willing decay, wasting away in an eager depression. Today, the only reason I've even left my house, the despicable place in which I allow myself to fall apart, is because I awoke with a strange craving for coffee, something which, because of the caffeine, only worsens my anxiety and foul mental state. Because of that, it's something that I deny myself. Today, however, is different for some reason. Almost as if something is telling me to go.

Maybe it's because, at this point, I couldn't care less that, for me, coffee is basically liquid poison. Maybe it's because, at this point, I couldn't care less if I fall apart completely. Maybe it's because a part of me feels that if I feed my demons, they will relent in their nagging pleas for me to just give up entirely on trying to get better. Then, maybe, just maybe, they'll at least allow me some peace and quiet as I try to find my place in this darkness, and search for a silver lining.

I ponder the small, white cup between my shaking hands, and realize something with a half smile. It's more than just coffee. In fact, it represents something much greater, a sense of control.

I decide that it's my silver lining for the day, and I revel in the thought that my coffee is better than everyone else's. The reason being that really, I shouldn't have come here, and unlike them, I'll surely suffer for drinking it. However, I will be the one doing it to myself. I will be in charge of my own anxiety. I will be the one in charge of my own suffering. I will be the one with the power, not the demons that plague my soul, and I highly doubt any of them can say the same.

My smile widens, and I take a small sip.

I allow myself to feel a sense of superiority over the other people who also chose to spend their morning in this rundown place, and swallow down the bitter sense of irony as they drink their coffees with still hands and expressions of joy.

Suddenly, two women come in and sit down at the table next to me. They appear to be about my age, only they shine so brightly with a keen yearning for life.

I roll my eyes at their happiness, and continue to drink my coffee.

"Honest to God, Jill. I'm a whole new person!" The one sitting next to me exclaims.

"It's like all my troubles are gone!" She continues on.

I quietly scoff to myself, believing that the woman must be foolish for thinking that such a thing could be possible. I don't even need to know what she's talking about. I simply sit in disgust and pure envy at the way that she smiles as if she hasn't a care in the world, when I know damn well she must have many troubles just like the rest of us. Why then, aren't they weighing her down?

She's no better than I am, I conclude righteously.

I take another sip and smile as I look down at my coffee with a sense of pride.

I am in control.

"What's changed?" The other woman asks her eagerly.

I roll my eyes bitterly, feeling agitated by their happiness.