I love hearing success stories. I hear of people who have smoked for twenty five years then one day, out of the blue, they quit cold turkey. I am not only happy for these people but I am completely jealous of them.
As I sit here today, after one day of doing so well, I haven’t smoked a single cigarette until this point, I am envious. My body has felt great today, I’ve barely coughed and I’ve had an enormous amount of energy. I sit here today envious, kicking myself for lighting up my second cigarette in a row.
Today my mind has been all over the place: I’ve been forgetful, I’ve had a lapse in concentration, I’ve had more odd thoughts than I’ve had in so long, honestly I don’t know how I’ve made it through today. I sit here today, heart broken that I’ve given up on quittng cigarettes.
Today has pushed me so hard, to a point where I’m looking back at my day and I feel if I continue I will end up in the hospital because of a break down. I look back at today and realize how distant I was from reality. I was reminded of that far away feeling I get right before I plummet into a full blown episode. I sit here today, scared that I can never quit, scared that my illness and addiction to cigarettes will be the end of me.
My biggest regret in life is picking up a cigarette. When I took that first drag I did not think of how I would think of myself, years down the road. My first cigarette was before my illness emerged. It was before I knew that my life choices had consequences and before I thought that I should take care of myself. I sit here today, side by side with regret.