Cigarettes. Addictive little fuckers, aren’t they? Except, up until, oh, I don’t know, THIS BLOG POST, I was always adamant that I wasn’t addicted to smoking. Oh no, me? I can stop any time I want! I smoke because I ENJOY it! I WANT to smoke! I’m not controlled by my habit, NO WAY. I do it CONSCIOUSLY! WILLINGLY! I CAN STOP ANY TIME I WANT!
I used to say the same thing about casual sex, and it was only when I gave that up that I realised how detrimental it had been to my well being- harmless fun as I was determined to write it off as at the time. I was doing and dumping as a tool to protect myself. I’m pretty sure that right now I am using tobacco in the exact same way.
I’ve thought about giving up smoking for a long time. But when I say thought about it I mean thought about it in the same way that I think about how nice it would be live in one place longer than twenty minutes, or in the way I think about what I might call a rescue dog, or what Beyoncé is doing right now this very second.
I read an obituary last week that the deceased man had written himself. He said, My regret is that I felt invincible when young and smoked cigarettes when I knew they were bad for me. Now, to make it worse, I have robbed my beloved Mary Jane of a decade or more of the two of us growing old together… I feel such the "thief" now - for stealing so much from her…
I think that was what planted this final seed. The future father of my children, my unborn kids, the family I’ll make for myself- the things I have no real concept of right now but one day will exist- this is something I have to do for them. And I think this is absolutely related to the celibacy.
GUYS. I AM SO NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT THE CELIBACY.
I’m learning how to stop punishing myself for having emotions, and hurting with of all the things I can’t control, and trying to figure out what I can control, and the no-sex-thing has led me to this place wherein I am in the process of becoming truly happy.
Happy people can conceive of even more future happiness, and whereas once upon a time I thought I’d die a lonely spinster- and I mean, legitimately, that I’d always be an aunt but never a mother, or that nobody would ever really want to date me, and that I’d have to learn to rely only on myself until the day I died- now, I see that I am part of something bigger.
I waxed lyrical about The Month of Awesome and my Roman Family because these things really did change me; I see that there are people who care about me, and honestly, truly and really, I’m not exaggerating when I say, I didn’t think I was worth caring all that much about until this year.
And now I’m getting totally away from my point, which is basically that I started to think not about giving up smoking, but about why I smoke in the first place (right as soon as I had stopped mentally decorating the New York apartment Clementine Elizabeth and Sebastian Richard will be brought up in).
I had to sit all the parts of my personality down in a group meeting to figure out how the ABSOLUTE HECK I allowed more or less twelve years of smoking happen. And the answers aren’t pretty.
I smoke when I feel awkward at a party, as a reason to excuse myself instead of including myself.
I smoke when I’m feeling exposed, so that I can stare at my hands instead of my inhibitions.
I smoke because it puts a physical barrier between me and whomever I am with.
I smoke to feel like I am in control.
It is really, really, important to me that I deal with these things. I've already done so much searching in my soul to learn how to be better, how to be me, how to maybe feel more worthy. So I quit.
I quit smoking, Internet. Day one. Done.