Smoking, again. I hate it.

This morning I stared at my cigarette in disgust. I could already smell the scent that was going to be stained on my fingers. Barely half of it was gone before I tossed it away. I stopped to ask myself why I was smoking, again. I guess my brain just wanted to play stupid.

It was around thirteen that I had my first cigarette. It was gross, yet still I continued. After finishing the first one I had no intention of doing it again. Then a few weeks passed. It was a rough week and when I smoked that gross chemical stick I noticed that it had made me feel better.

I smoked on and off throughout high school and college. I would stop for a few years in between because it gets expensive and the smell becomes a problem.

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Credit: Patrick Brinksma

Lately things have been rough again and I found myself back at it. Buying packs and feeling like a fiend for another. People say, “go workout” or “find something else to do”. I have, and yet it still doesn’t feel like it helps that much.

Now it’s not just something to do when things are rough, it’s also a fucking addiction. I find myself smoking when I don’t even want one.

Truthfully, I have no idea on how I should end this post. All I want to say is that I feel like such an asshole for even picking the habit back up and now I’m kicking myself because I regret it. I’ll stop again, eventually. But how long until I go back? A year? Three? Five? Fuck.

 

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