constantly blooming.

[never again] - Coffee

 I never understood why people liked coffee. I sipped a bit from my dad's mug when I was smaller and my mouth immediately recoiled in revulsion. It was disgustingly bitter to me. He laughed at my reaction, and mentioned that he much rather liked sour coffee, but it was hard to come by in the states. I curled my lip in distaste; I hated both of those flavors equally.
A few years later, I tried another sip from my mom's current boyfriend's mug. It was a lot sweeter due to the copious amount of sugar, cream, and milk. But I could still taste the bitter undertone masked by the diabetes, and hated it all the same. My sister didn't seem to mind as much as I did; then again, it was almost pure sugar and she is a year and a half younger than me.
I stuck with water after that. I hated the fizz of soda, I got sick of the sweetness of juice, I hadn't drank straight milk my whole life, and tea was time-consuming. But water was always so clean, so fresh, so cold, and so clear-tasting. I was drinking tons of water for years, and it was the only thing that kept me happy.
I guess I was a strange child.
While I was raving over my obsession with water, I was entering middle school. I was a pretty innocent kid that thought everyone could be friendly no matter what. I was optimistic about going to a new school for the first time in my life, especially with, albeit, the few friends I made in elementary. I refused to believe anything fiction books would tell me about bullying and boy problems, and I entered sixth grade with hope.
Sixth grade was a little worse than I had expected, but nothing notable. I entered seventh grade, no longer the innocent, optimistic child I used to be. I was thirteen in seventh grade, and that's when the boy trouble began. I was an over dramatic teen with a wild imagination, and with even more friends than I could ever fathom. I thought of myself as 'extroverted' in that year, which I never have been and never will be for the rest of my life.
It was eighth grade that screwed me over. But this time, it wasn't boy trouble.
It was girl trouble.
I had fallen for my best friend, and ended up turning a normal friendship into a rivalry. It was utter torture. I almost convinced myself to quit school. I cried every day, I hated myself. I hated her. I hated everyone that I thought was now against me because I was such a blubbering, incoherent mess. I ended that god awful year completely drained and emotionally destroyed. It was the time when I realized how horrible being a teenager actually was.
The summer of my ninth grade year, I tried coffee again. I drank the whole cup. I tried it again. And again. And again. The bitter-sour low-lights were insignificant and easily ignorable as I downed cup after cup. I wondered why I had never enjoyed coffee until now. Why I had never liked it until someone left a bitter taste of their own in my soul.
Maybe you just had to grow up to enjoy coffee. Maybe you just had to get a taste of something even more revolting to begin trying something milder.
Maybe I'm just overthinking this.
I better get a cup of coffee.