So last week, out of nowhere, I decided I was going to stop smoking cigarettes. It wasn’t a hard decision to come to, either. In all honesty, I’d grown weary of my son’s insinuations about my impending premature death (if I continued to smoke) & that commercial with the holy smoke lady always came on as I began to eat. Thus, after 15 years of smoking god damned cigarette’s, I stopped. Just like that. [Sidenote: Not just like that per se, but I didn’t realize how strong rehab made me, or the principals that would stick with me over time..]
I tried to start smoking Kools brand cigs back when I was about 19, running behind this shifty-eyed chickenrat who was clearly out of my league. By out of my league I mean she had me stealing disposable cameras from her job & I’m blessed that I didn’t get something communicable from her as a parting gift. (The things a young man will risk for the chance at guilt-free ‘tang are unfathomable, no?) One night, I allowed her to convince me that a cigarette was what I needed, & like the evil song a siren spins, she convinced me to steal some smokes from my mom’s purse. It’s a good thing moms was still drinking heavily back then, although even when I was drinking, I knew how many smokes I had. Anywho, after the smoke-flavored vomit left my lips, it was a wrap. I’d smoked my first cigarette. My lungs were no longer virgin(s).
Now, as a man with a few kids & a somewhat reputable existence on Earth, I’ve come to the conclusion that – like alcohol – it’s time to stop killing myself with cigarettes. Stress as well, for that matter. Fuck all that accidental suicide bullshit. If I stroke out, it’ll be because my parents never put an end to my bizarre love affair with greasy ass pizza. Not the gas bill & my daughter’s bad attitude. Diabetes & hyper tension are just as dangerous as angry, misguided youths, but if you don’t know then you don’t know.
Some buddies of mine stopped over yesterday, & we talked about how man loses sight of his life & dreams. I pointed out that we all essentially live for our problems, until they kill us, & that’s why so many adults are jaded, or dead on the inside, as the melodramatic White kids say. That lack of compassion is the chain that links generations together, usually ending in self medication, abuse & other detrimental bullshit. The difference between recreation & addiction is the ability to apply moderation, but that’s neither here nor there when all that matters is feeling better, so to speak.
So, ask yourself, is your vice killing you? If so, by no uncertain terms that’s suicide. But, if your vice controls you, that’s addiction, & there’s help for people like you. Don’t be one of those people who pretend they don’t know, or refuse to acknowledge a problem because of embarrassment, until its too late. That’s that coward shit.