My First Cigarette After 25 Years
I lighted my first cigarette after 25 years. Everyone at the bar stared at me, no one said a word. They know I do not smoke. They just stared at me as I picked up a cigarette without asking the owner.
I took my first drag, and the familiar feeling came back. I actually hate smoking. I smoked in my early twenties is because it was cool, but I hate the smell. I joined the smoking group in my first job was because I wanted to fit in. I was doing IT support; I need to learn system skills from the seniors. Smoking was the best way to break the ice.
Tonight I smoked is because I am tired of fighting the uphill battle. I am tired of myself for having blind spots that is wider than the Grand Canyon. I do not have the foresight to see the consequences of my decisions. I thought I made the right decision without knowing I just shot myself in the foot. I am tired of having someone to clean up my mess. I am tired of pretending everything is okay, throwing my fist into the air saying I take on any challenges that life throws at me. I am broken, I am tired and I could not find a place where I can truly rest. I am tired of taking ownership of my actions. I want to blame the whole world for my misery. Discipline and resilience have given me everything that I am enjoying now. It is also the source of my misery. Every day is a war within me.
As I was halfway through the cigarette, a voice in my head asked it this the start of a slippery slope? Is this how I want to end things? I let go a deep sigh, bit my lower lip and put out the cigarette. No one in the bar mentioned a single thing, everyone just continues with their conversation. Nothing happened. I joined them in their cheerful conversations. I had my usual two beers and left quietly. It was 930pm, I have been in the bar for about an hour.
The war within myself rages on. Tomorrow is another day.