Like most of the stupid decisions in my life, it seemed like a good idea at the time, so I did it. It also made me a lot of money, which I was always out of. So I signed up to be a human guinea pig at Ohio State University's research facilities. It didn't seem like a hard thing to do, and besides, I was going to make $750 for my time and effort. All you had to be to qualify was a healthy female. And you had to pull yourself off caffeine for two weeks before you were admitted. Easier said than done in my case.

I used to think I was not addicted to anything. I quit smoking with little effort, I could easily drink or not drink and the same went for anything else potentially addictive. Five hours without my trusted Mountain Dew proved hazardous to other people's health. Within 10 hours I was suffering from severe headaches and constant fatigue. Even worse, in addition to my beloved caffeine, I had to avoid taking any kind of medication, including any type of painkillers. By day two I would have seriously maimed for two Aleve and a swig of Mountain Dew to wash them down with. End of day two ends with me passing out at the movies and my now-ex-boyfriend complaining because he had to carry me out of the theatre. (This was a sure sign we were heading toward the end.)

By day three I could kill for crappy, burnt, day-old gas station coffee. On day four, I can be found in the kitchen inhaling the aroma from a can of coffee and debating on chewing the grounds. Day five, and I've finally ceased shaking, but I'm bitchy as hell and no one wants to be near me, including the aforementioned ex-boyfriend. But by this time, I really don't give a damn, I only care about caffeine. The only thing that gets me through is the thought of that $750. By day six I'm lingering at trendy coffee shops, smelling peoples' cups of latte as they desperately push me away with their homegrown-sun-dried-tomato bagels with non-fat sour cream tofu.

After a restraining order placed by all concerned coffee shops, I get through the last few days without much incident, except I now sleep with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a pound of double espresso in the other. My uncaring, caffeine-free freak of a boyfriend takes to sleeping on the couch or, better yet, at his best friend's house to avoid my obsessive habit of sniffing coffee grounds every hour. Into the second week, I get a call from the girlfriend of my boyfriend's best friend asking me to please remove my boyfriend from her couch. She cannot stand having two slobs talking in a monosyllabic language with constant inside jokes. She threatens to kill him if he doesn't leave soon. I offer her my vast selection of steak knives.

Three days before I am to be admitted, the headaches have become dull throbs but every one of my senses seems hyper-sensitive. Seems caffeine has a direct effect on my perception, and suddenly I saw the entire world for what it was: Annoying, uncaring, selfish, Gap-wearing, latte-drinking, tofu-stuffing, Friends-watching, religious-stock-buying, doing-it-because-it's-hip-piercing, trendy, bisexual-wannabe posers who think they invented goth because they can identify with Marilyn Manson. Not all wrapped into one, per se, but a clusterfuck of the main groups of people who drive me insane the most. Apparently the amount of caffeine I ingest on a daily basis works as a filter to keep all the especially annoying agents a little bit further from my reality. At least enough to save others from bodily harm.

Somehow I survive caffeine withdrawal with no casualties, save my own bloody sanity, and I'm admitted into the facilities. I get free food, get to watch TV most of the day, get to lay around in bed and essentially have no responsibilities. Sounds great, right? Well first off, the chances of getting stuck with a talkative roommate who just happens to have done quite a few of these research projects are almost 100 percent. The Chances she'll have completely different ideas of what to watch on TV is exactly 100 percent. The food is a sheer imitation of the crap you got in grade school, except at least you got fries at school and you could make fun of the lunch lady. At the research lab, you aren't allowed anything greasy or otherwise potentially harmful to the test results of the experimental drug you are testing. And you still can't have caffeine. You can make fun of the doctors who serve you the imitation food, but they are also the ones who are taking your blood and giving you the test drug. I found it in my best interest to keep sarcastic remarks to myself. Generally I would eat about half my allotted amount of slop and hide the rest in the trash. At night I dreamed of bacon-double cheeseburgers and salty fries.

Four times a day they poke you with a needle, then let you get back to lounging around in your dank bedroom with no windows and a television set that is bolted to the wall just a bit too close to the ceiling, with a roommate who won't shut up about her boyfriend and a hospital bed that makes you think you are on an episode of X-Files being tested for some weird genetic disease. Except there is no delicious specimen that comes close to resembling Fox Mulder rescuing you with a 2 liter of Mountain Dew in one hand and a triple-decker cheeseburger in the other. The once bright thought of $750 in your pocket begins to dim with every ear-screeching word uttered by the yappy blonde demon who resides in your dreary dungeon for the weekend of hell.

For the four weeks of the experiment you must remain caffeine and drug free. The time of hell you have signed up for has four torturous intervals, during which you must stay in the confines of the labs as previously described. The last day of this sad descent into desperation for the sake of money, I book out of the lab and into the glowing sunlight (one of the few times I've been so thankful to be blinded by the scorching sun), and drive straight to the first fast-food hamburger shack I can find. Four weeks had done nothing to quell my lust for caffeine as I greedily consumed a Mountain Dew. My hunger had only intensified, building each day I was denied my sweet liquid friend who was sometimes lime green, other times a rich brown. I was like a crack fiend locked behind bars, pacing the days until I could get my hands on it again. The rest of the day I toured all the coffee houses in my city, first apologizing for frightening their patrons and then indulging in cup after cup of molten-hot caffeine.

Five days later I received my check, a shining reward for the hell I had endured. Two weeks later, I signed up for another lab, this one for $1000, to test an experimental drug for migraine headaches. You didn't have to suffer from migraines, which I didn't, you just needed to be as pure of a specimen as they could find. Much the same took place again. Except this time, I had broken up with my boyfriend and didn't care who I pissed off as I weaned myself off caffeine one more time. At least this lab was two weeks shorter, only consisting of two weekends in the confines of the evil research facility. With renewed vigor, I trotted into my newly assigned room and nearly fell to the floor when I discovered my roommate was the same chatty, vile girl who had nearly drove me to suicide the last time I was here. The food hadn't changed and neither had the incredibly freezing temperature setting of the air conditioner.

During every hour of this dreaded weekend we had our blood drawn. In the same spot. I saw grown men who played football for the university wince by the time we had been poked in the same bruised spot for the thirtieth time. Many of us sat with ice packs between our upper and lower arms, easing the pain of repeated stabbings. Night was no exception: We were woken up by half-asleep doctors who barely looked when they jabbed what felt like a 12-inch needle into your flesh. Sleep came in bizarre, disjointed naps, where I stumbled back and forth from thinking I was in a government research lab, being injected with genetic-altering chemicals designed to turn me into a kung fu fighting terrorist and give me a better body, to eating hot dogs in a Dairy Queen, surrounded by Canadians who kept saying "eh" and offering me vodka, while the waitress whose name tag said Scully kept poking me with her pencil. But at the end of it all, I knew I would be $1,000 richer and that could buy a lot of coffee.

The day finally came when I was forever released from my obligations at the lab and immediately I resumed my caffeine-infused way of life, vowing never to endure so much torture again. My arms looked like they were covered with track marks, and I ended up wearing long sleeves all the time just to avoid the eager looks and their resultant judgmental remarks. For two months I happily plugged away at writing, living off my profits from being poked with a needle and enduring the most talkative human on the planet without the effects of much needed caffeine. I ate mounds of fries covered in cheese and bacon, greasy pizza, juicy burgers and plenty of Mountain Dew.

Then I received a phone call from the lab. There was another experiment for another $1,000. My funds were beginning to run low and I hadn't gotten many writing assignments, so I said yes. Once again I purged myself of the evil nectar caffeine and locked away my painkillers. And once again I endured the hell of being poked, prodded, talked too and fed horrible food. Except this time the food was greasy: They were testing the effects of a drug for high cholesterol. You would think that maybe they would've just ordered something coated in grease from the McDonald's up the road, but they somehow managed to cook something greasy that still tasted like crap. The first night after dinner and taking the required dose, I became violently ill. I laid in bed, clutching my stomach that was ripping itself apart and fought the urge to puke up my intestines. My sight would fade in and out, as would my consciousness, while doctors checked on me every hour. The night held nothing but intense pain that moved from my stomach to my intestines in a constant cycle that eventually bled into one stabbing continuum. We were released the next morning and I never went back. The lab left numerous messages on my machine, asking me to return to finish the experiment. Finally, the top doctor heading this entire circus of Dr. Frakensteins and their creations, called me up and begged me to return. He surmised I had gotten the actual drug and assured me I'd receive the placebo next time. I told him I didn't care to take a chance on getting a placebo, and to take this valuable information as a sign that the drug had bad side effects and leave me alone. After two days I felt better and indulged in a pot of coffee.

I've never returned to the house of horrors, although I am forced to drive by it on occasion, and think of the other desperate students signing up for potentially damaging experiments thinking it will be easy. Then again, there was my research-obsessed lab rat of a roomie, who must have done so many experiments it affected her reasoning.

I'm not saying every experiment is dangerous and could screw you up for the rest of your life. I'm saying they have the potential to do so. When you sign-up for one of these research projects, you have to sign about 20 waivers vowing to not hold the research facility responsible for any temporary or permanent damage. Maybe these drugs are completely safe and they're just testing them on human subjects out of boredom.

Yeah, and maybe the fact that I now get migraine headaches is just a coincidence.

By Anastasia