smoking, at least cigarettes because here everyone is hookah crazy, has become so stigmatized and my dad smoked when i was a kid and all of that so i didnt really like smoking at all. the entire idea of it is pretty disgusting and repulsive, and cancer etc. etc.
im also not one to deal with stress very well at all. not that i get easily agitated, but i dont release stress well at all and it ends up building up and i end up breaking things, or hurting myself, or something stupid. this is probably some psychological thing that i need to see a therapist about.
but i dont want to spare the time or effort it takes to do that. so what i got accustomed to doing, was taking refuge in the therapeutic nature of writing. almost like the ramblings of underground man from dostoevsky, i rambled on and on in my notebooks and i made some good progress, and my writing started to escalate and blah blah blah.
some things eventually built up and tilted the **** out of me, so i decided to stop writing. no problem, because i had found out that i had a few friends that i could talk to and it was almost the same as writing, except there were more people involved.
but then one of them stopped talking to me, which was alright because they were pretty much a complete stranger, and then another one of them, a childhood friend from a neighboring state, stopped talking to me, and pretty soon i found out that i was back to where i started, and it got to the point where i had no escape and i had no way to let it out.
my destructiveness isnt the sort of thing that is really overt. its not like i slip into some violent rage and become a danger to society or anything. its a lot more subtle but its still noticable to the fact that when i was visiting my mom i overheard her talking about how she was actually scared of me because of it. this is a pretty big wake up call, when you find out your own mother is scared of you.
so i took a step back this time, when my stress started taking hold because i cant find it in me to write and all of my consciences, which is the name i refer to the people i talk to about things that matter, had not talked to me for a very long time, and i decided **** it.
i went to the store and i bought a pack of cigarettes and i took up smoking.
smoking is stigmatized. smoking is gross. its disgusting. its sick. its repulsive. its unattractive. in a lot of ways, it alienates me from society and i like that. this is one of the reasons im doing it.
what it also does is round me out. im sleeping more because i feel more tired. you might think this is a downside, but being able to fall asleep before 2am is very nice, and getting up before 9am and still having enough sleep to not feel like **** is wonderful.
it just slows things down for me. it lets me stop. my problems are still there, my stress is still there but now i dont care about it. its not even that i smoke when im stressed, i just decide every once in a while that im going to go have a cigarette. itll be 10pm and ill decide i need something from the store, so i grab my jacket and walk to the store and while im going i grab a cigarette. stuff like that.
am i addicted to cigarettes? probably. i dont think i am, but i dont want to stop. people say well if i wanted to stop then i could, but i dont say that. youre addicted to cigarettes they would say, why dont you quit. its bad for you they would say. well fine, cigarettes are bad for me. my health is getting bad-- let it get even worse. i dont want to quit.
sometimes when im smoking, i like to imagine that on my cigarette theres a little message. something written there, and each time i smoke a cigarette thats another thing from my life that im burning away. i get absolutely enthralled by the smoke, entranced and intoxicated by it and when i walk at night and i smoke the glow from the cigarette, the flash of the lighter, these are all things that are the sublime and are the beautiful.
what do you think?
im also not one to deal with stress very well at all. not that i get easily agitated, but i dont release stress well at all and it ends up building up and i end up breaking things, or hurting myself, or something stupid. this is probably some psychological thing that i need to see a therapist about.
but i dont want to spare the time or effort it takes to do that. so what i got accustomed to doing, was taking refuge in the therapeutic nature of writing. almost like the ramblings of underground man from dostoevsky, i rambled on and on in my notebooks and i made some good progress, and my writing started to escalate and blah blah blah.
some things eventually built up and tilted the **** out of me, so i decided to stop writing. no problem, because i had found out that i had a few friends that i could talk to and it was almost the same as writing, except there were more people involved.
but then one of them stopped talking to me, which was alright because they were pretty much a complete stranger, and then another one of them, a childhood friend from a neighboring state, stopped talking to me, and pretty soon i found out that i was back to where i started, and it got to the point where i had no escape and i had no way to let it out.
my destructiveness isnt the sort of thing that is really overt. its not like i slip into some violent rage and become a danger to society or anything. its a lot more subtle but its still noticable to the fact that when i was visiting my mom i overheard her talking about how she was actually scared of me because of it. this is a pretty big wake up call, when you find out your own mother is scared of you.
so i took a step back this time, when my stress started taking hold because i cant find it in me to write and all of my consciences, which is the name i refer to the people i talk to about things that matter, had not talked to me for a very long time, and i decided **** it.
i went to the store and i bought a pack of cigarettes and i took up smoking.
smoking is stigmatized. smoking is gross. its disgusting. its sick. its repulsive. its unattractive. in a lot of ways, it alienates me from society and i like that. this is one of the reasons im doing it.
what it also does is round me out. im sleeping more because i feel more tired. you might think this is a downside, but being able to fall asleep before 2am is very nice, and getting up before 9am and still having enough sleep to not feel like **** is wonderful.
it just slows things down for me. it lets me stop. my problems are still there, my stress is still there but now i dont care about it. its not even that i smoke when im stressed, i just decide every once in a while that im going to go have a cigarette. itll be 10pm and ill decide i need something from the store, so i grab my jacket and walk to the store and while im going i grab a cigarette. stuff like that.
am i addicted to cigarettes? probably. i dont think i am, but i dont want to stop. people say well if i wanted to stop then i could, but i dont say that. youre addicted to cigarettes they would say, why dont you quit. its bad for you they would say. well fine, cigarettes are bad for me. my health is getting bad-- let it get even worse. i dont want to quit.
sometimes when im smoking, i like to imagine that on my cigarette theres a little message. something written there, and each time i smoke a cigarette thats another thing from my life that im burning away. i get absolutely enthralled by the smoke, entranced and intoxicated by it and when i walk at night and i smoke the glow from the cigarette, the flash of the lighter, these are all things that are the sublime and are the beautiful.
what do you think?






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