This Lenten season, I gave up coffee for the second year in a row. As predicted, it was about as easy as ripping out my own veins. Not only was I giving up my livelihood, I was throwing away an incredibly co-dependent (though not necessarily unhealthy) relationship with the enchanting bean beverage. I went from feeling a warm cup of joe between my hands to watching my customers with a deadpan smile on my face and fire in my eyes.

Needless to say, I've missed my juice. I've had a rollercoaster of emotions this past month, and it's been rough. Now that I think of it, I've gone through the five stages of grief.

1. Denial or "This is going to be a piece of cake."

While I was well aware that I was giving up coffee, I definitely thought that it was going to be easy. Sure, I get around six hours of sleep on a good night, using brain power during class is exhausting, and walking around the KU campus is the equivalent of running a daily marathon, but it's going to be fine.

Little did I know that all this confidence was undeniably fake, which quickly led to...

2. Anger or "Why do they get to drink coffee?"

Once I realized that 40 days without my favorite beverage was going to be, well, difficult, I got mad. Really mad. Hulk level, crazy ex-wife, serial arsonist mad. My job at a coffee shop made this incredibly difficult, as I needed to be nice to customers while thoroughly loathing their ability to drink coffee at the same time.

It ended up being a beautiful exercise in self-control on my part, as no one was actually harmed during this phase.

3. Bargaining or "It splashed on my hand, I'm not actually drinking it."

Work started to become this place where I could be this close to coffee without actually ingesting it. It was somewhat like stalking an ex's Facebook to see what he or she is doing and, more importantly, how his or her life is going without you in it. I understood I couldn't drink the bean juice, but I'll be darned if I couldn't smell the beans, feel its warmth through the cup, or lick a drop or two that splashed on my hand.

Ultimately, I was just torturing myself, which led to the inevitable . . .

4. Depression or "But, wwwhhhhyyyyyy?"

Have you ever looked at something and felt, deep down in the core of your soul and being, how much you wanted it? That intense yearning, that pull you feel in your gut? Well, call me an addict, because I started to feel this. Every time someone walked by with a cup, the wonderfully dark aroma of coffee trailing behind them, I wanted to stop, curl up in the fetal position right there, and cry.

I missed it, and it was making me unreasonably emotional. Since people start worrying if you break down right in the middle of work, I had to force myself into...

5. Acceptance or "I literally have a week left. Suck it up."

As the heading suggests, I didn't get to this stage until about a week before Lent was supposed to end. At that point, I told myself that I'd gone through a whole month without coffee, and I couldn't screw it up now by drinking it. So, while I wasn't happy about it, I settled into an uneasy acceptance of my life choices.

Deep in my soul, though, I knew that in a week's time, I would be like Thor and screaming for more coffee with everyone around me saying, "Marisa, you've already had five cups in the past two hours. Maybe you wanna calm down...?"

All in all, these past 40 days have taught me that, while I won't commit homicide for it, coffee is an incredibly important part of who I am and how I get through each day as a college student. Until next year, when I will inevitably lie to myself again and say that I can give up coffee, I will continue to drink it religiously with love in my heart.