Why, oh, why do I do this to myself? Inhaling chemicals, curling smoke drifting through my veins. Headrush, dizziness. It's unpleasant, but I need it. Or do I? I've been questioning my motives, lately. The sensation is not what drives me; it's repelling, in fact. I think I just love that feeling of secretiveness. I can't show anyone. This is not what they would expect of me. I love that feeling of burning lungs, damaged tissues, pain when you draw in breath. It's comforting. I love that feeling of lifting that cancer stick to your mouth and breathing in, finally something real to focus on, something else to shut out the world. I hope I can keep this manageable.
A week, and a few days extra, without. Bad cravings, at first. It wasn't by choice; I had no way of purchasing those deadly boxes. Chainsmoking the previous weekend, the stark days of emptiness struck me as being absurdly difficult to manage. I craved cigarettes. At the end of the week, I was fine. No urges, nothing too harsh, anyway. But today I finally had my opportunity; hesitant questions, cash passed from hand to hand. Inhale. Yes. God, yes.
I had to sit down; the dizziness was overpowering. Is this normal? How can I crave something that has the power to make me feel so awful? Wobbly, weaving.
I must be insane. Looks like she was right.
