Day 3

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. I didn’t want to have to deal with this shit today. I didn’t want to have to pretend that I I am super keen to clean up the trail of blood and clots that just got trekked through the entire theatre. I just wanted to call up sick for work and lay in bed with the dog watching Rick and Morty. I didn’t want human contact.
I didn’t sleep well last night. I sat up eating the last of Courtney’s favourite ice cream, In a vain attempt to squash my cravings with something else.
Being an adult with responsibilities and a thinly spread bank account, staying home wasn’t an option. I hit snooze about ten times and then clawed my way out of bed.
As soon as I opened the front door I got a whiff of smoke. I’m not sure if it’s just because my sense of smell is coming back, or if it’s the fact that I am hanging for one so badly that my subconscious is actively searching for durries, but I can smell when someone lights up from two blocks away. Not even over exaggerating (maybe over exaggerating a little).
I already knew where the smell was coming from. I swear to fuck the neighbours are out the front smoking no matter what time of day it is. It could be 7 in the morning or 10:30 at night, they are out there. I know it sounds like I am mad at them. I’m not mad at them. They are nice people. It doesn’t make things any easier knowing that I could just walk across my driveway and ask to pinch one.
I repressed everything I felt at the moment I opened the door, and started walking to my car. I saw a couple of butts in the garden from when I was an environment polluting smoker. I thought to myself “I could easily get a couple of draws from each of them”
I kept walking.
When I got in the car I decided to look down the side of the chair for absolutely no reason at all (lies!)
Sitting there underneath a couple of starburst wrappers was a thin white strip with a yellowish coloured tip.
My brain started screaming. Opera music began plying.


The answer to all my immediate problems was sitting right next to me. I knew that all these shit feelings could just vanish in an instant. The little Devil on my shoulder wandered over to the little angel and smothered her with his little devil pillow.

“I can have just one. I have done so well for the last few days. One smoke isn’t going to ruin everything. Nobody even has to know. Nobody is around. I deserve to reward myself. It’s not like I’m buying a whole pack. It’s just one, and it’s sitting right there.”

That’s how it gets you. Your mind tricks you into smoking again. I wanted to reward myself for not smoking, by smoking. That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.

I grabber it, put it in my mouth, found a lighter, and sparked it.
As soon as I felt that familiar burn in the back of my throat, there was instant regret. I felt guilty, weak and stupid. I fucked up everything I had been doing for the last three days.
I had one more puff because of the being weak thing I just mentioned, and threw the rest out.

So there are two ways I can go from here. I can admit that I failed and start over. Or I can treat it as a minor set back, and continue on.
The idea of starting over is not one that I like. I don’t know if I have the mental strength to start from the beginning. So I’m going to treat it like I just slipped up. I need to learn from this mistake. Prepare myself better for the next time The opportunity arises for me to fall back into old habits.

That opportunity came pretty much as soon as I rocked up at work.

“Darling, do you want a smoke?”

I appreciate my friends looking out for me, but God dammit. I turned it down in spite of every thought in my head trying to tell me why it was ok for me to take it.

The rest of my day has consisted of me wandering around the theatre suite, wishing that I was at home with Courtney. Zoning out in front of the PlayStation. Releasing my anger by virtually shooting 12 year olds in the face on COD.

This is hard

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