I am chilling in a post burnt-out stage of euphoria. Underneath the symbolic twisting appendages of the sullen willow tree outside swings grown up memories. A dozen cumulus clouds of bubbling guilt pass overhead, casting shadows on the early morning shoppers perusing the wares through double panes. One man pauses to kick a can of soda off of the curb into a sewer. I feel for the lonely metallic cylinder, destined for a seemingly endless run through the dark maze of tunnels connecting numerous back alleys. At least my back no longer feels the strain of blue collared pay cheques. A mug of coffee cools on my bedside table. Another drink for my always thirsty sink. Sitting up causes my eyes to droop, and a conglomerate overriding of nerves leaves me feeling light headed. The rush soon recedes back into my chest, fading quickly. I fumble for the empty lighter beside me, optimistic that someone may have filled it when I wasn't paying attention. Of course, I am proved wrong once again. My clock desperately flashes three-thirty-two. Power must not be guaranteed to everyone. I wonder about the correct time, yet understand it is only relative. As I fumble with a cigarette, I notice that the scaly silver substance from last nights selection of losing scratch tickets still appears as residue on the tips of my fingers. I've got to get myself together. Today the glass will be half full... at least that’s what I'm told by the vibrant rays of light creeping slowly across my carpet. My shoes are nowhere to be found. I can't even remember bringing them home with me last night. To tell you the truth, I haven't the faintest idea as to how I made it here myself. It brings a smile to my face knowing that I awoke in a nice warm bed, instead of being shaken awake by the men in blue, and falling off the bench to be sprawled across the concrete for the pigeon lady to laugh at. I would rather consume the chips of peeled paint off the bench, then to have to endure that constant cooing. I notice that there is a note underneath my door. Hopefully a positive message is contained amongst the scribble. From this distance, all I can tell is that someone spent very little time writing it. One enormous hand tracing chicken scratch onto a discarded parchment. Perhaps I should pick it up and read it, or maybe burn it... I do not know. Another head rush and once again I am somewhere between lost and found. I find that I have no desire to learn the lies written on the small scrap of white paper, but at the same time I am drawn to it. If I am indifferent towards it, I might miss out on something fantastic. If I succumb to its power, it may use me as a needle uses an addict. Decisions can kill greatness if they are made without thought. Now what did I do with those matches? I quickly scan the room to find them looking up at me from a rumpled heap of clothes that are more of a fire hazard than a fashion trend. Stretch... Focus... Lift... Stand... Lean over... Pick up... Unfold... Rip... Strike... Flame... I look again at the note. It beckons me to come out and play. A brief carpet born inferno. I shake it off, and light the cigarette that amazingly found its way behind my left ear, instead of between my sheets. Sometimes I surprise myself. Unfortunately, now is not one of those days. I should have quit this nasty habit years ago. I should never have started in the first place. A fire at one end, a sucker at the other. But it feels so good, and the shaking in my hands has stopped. I wonder how long before it begins again.
This is a story I began a few years ago. It is still unfinished, but I felt the need to post the beginning as It is exactly how I used to feel, with the smoking, and the partying I used to do. Today, I wrote a new story, a summary of my life as a smoker. I call it: “The Addiction Papersâ€
It is in the next post.
Viking:cool:
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nsd_user663_1655
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A silent assassin was pushed upon me by those I called friends beneath the shadows of a popular teen hangout when I was 16, a young pup. After a brief interaction, I was left dizzy, sick to the stomach, and a bit sore in the mouth. Over the next week or so, the assassin would pop up when I least expected it. It was relentless those first few days, a harsh kick of endorphins that got easier to handle every time. The assassin eased my thoughts that the affair was wrong; it made me feel “loved”. I came to admire this thin, elegant, smoking hot killer. I wanted it near me always. I urged people to come see me with him, to see my power, the power I had to be cool. Unfortunately, within a year he was hanging around most of the people I knew and hung out with. I no longer looked to him for advice and assistance with my troubles, but he was there anyways. I started to notice how badly his advice looked on other people. With his lingering smell, their fingers bearing his yellow mark, and their newly thin non-athletic bodies shaking in the cold, I tried to push him away, early in our relationship. It did not work, I could not say no to him, as he was very persistent in his methods. I realized the sham, that it wasn’t me with the power, but him. He had it all along. I didn’t know how to get it back. In order to sneak out with him, I would cover myself in scented sprays, flavored mouth rinse, lemon and scouring pads eating my fingers to clean his marks, and open car windows and air fresheners galore. My parents never got to meet him, but you could be sure he was never that far away. My athletic childhood turned into a lethargic adulthood before I was aware of the changes. Teen age years squeezed through the billow of blue haze and smoke. I even had other people finding him for me as I was years under the age where it was deemed “legal” to hang out with him. At first, I thought myself lucky to have friends that would find him so I could be cool by association, this luck ran out very quickly. Many frozen fingers, and numerous lighter tricks later, my fascination for this delicate infection became a foreseeable nuisance for others. Girlfriends started leaving me because of him. What did I care, there were plenty of other fish in the sea. Unfortunately, those that knew him, always seemed to know a good time to get away, and with me he sat for many more years. Businesses and institutions considered me second class, because I would be with him. Nobody that didn’t have a cylindrical friend of their own would join me in my car. After 8 years I was going to the unwanted meeting place even before my morning coffee. Lining myself up for a daily cough, I stood tall for 5 or 6 minutes while getting kicked in the chest. My colds were becoming quick infections every few seasons, and I was getting multiple warning from doctors. The usual “quit, or die”. In one ear, out the other. I wasn’t allowed to hang out with herb, patch, or zybby too long, because he would always call me back early. The remedy gang danced around by themselves, and I watched their whimsical taunts with longing. I wasn’t allowed to run around with friends, or sit through an entire movie. People that don’t know him do not understand how hard it is to escape the real world for an affair that you know is frowned upon, but cannot help getting crazy for. At ten years, the costs were becoming too much. He kept raising his rates, but gave me nothing more in return. The glamorous thoughts, the movie star attitude, were all but gone. I hated myself for finding him, no matter how many of him I destroyed, he would pop up somewhere. I routinely thought about how many people must have watched me fade into the junkie life, listening to me again and again as I lied to them and myself both, reassuring everyone that I still had power over this, that I still could make my own decisions. This January, courage built. My brother told me that I couldn’t get into shape, We made a bet of sorts. I left my assassin for his cousin, Gar. Much bigger, and possibly even more dangerous, but different, and it was the change I needed to do what I had been plotting for over 10 years. I started a daily swim at the health club where I had two previous years memberships and zero visits. Two months later, March 1, 2007, right at Midnight Feb. 28, I reversed things on my assassin. I leapt out of my own shadows, arms raised in battle stance, and I put my foot down hard (still hurts)… I screamed “NO!!! NO! NO! NO! You Have No Power Over Me! I Don’t Need You! You Are Evil! I Want My Life Back!” The assassin said nothing, not even a peep came out of its filtered mouth as my fist came down hard upon his head, again, and again. I crushed all his alter egos. The first three days were hell in a handbasket. Then I endured two more. I am now on 6 days. I may be angry and snappy right now, but a few weeks of agitation is nothing to the ten years of life I will regain. My body is going to jump right out of my skin, I shake, I can’t sleep, I am spaced out, Yet I am celebrating. How Ironic is that. I see the freedom at the end of the tunnel that I have only heard about. I do still think of him almost every minute, but my new destiny is to fight with my emotions at my side, not to hide them. To stand tall in the face of adversity and stress, and to have the freedom to do what I want, when I want to. My parents never met him, but I am sure they would be enthusiastic if they knew I walked away finally. The best part of this, is that when I am not as strong as I put out, when I am nearing temptations grasp, when I feel that I cannot handle another second, I can come to the forum, where I have friends. These friends do not hide in the shadows. They are going through the same things as me. I am so proud of them, despite never meeting them. I feel they will listen to any warped thought I put down. They won’t treat me like I’m over exaggerating, won’t tell me to have a sugarfree gum and forget about it. In fact, they are reaching out for support just as I am, striving to never release the demon again. I thank you all for being here. I congratulate all of you for facing your own assasins, and continuously telling them to simmer down. For all the people thinking about following in our footsteps, remember this: When you are drowning, raise a hand. There will be a helping one to come along soon. This boat is bigger than you think, and baby steps are glorious.
United, We’ll Fight It
Day after Day,
We’ll Fight It,
No Longer Slaves,
We’ll Fight It,
Stand Up to the Craves,
We’ll Fight It,
And Our Lives Will Be Saved.
Causes cancer
Inhibits lung capacity
Greatly reduces income
Addictive nicotine
Releases carbon monoxide
Emits lingering stench
Tars your lungs
Tastes and smell is weakened
Ends Lives
Not a good friend, is it? Love you all, sorry this is so long. Please tell me if you enjoyed, hated, etc.
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do you know whats best?
Day 22 - Still Craving!
