Smoking. Again

Once I reached the other side of the eating disorder and was finally in that blue sky phase that everyone talks about but it is impossible to believe in until you feel it yourself, I got knocked over by regret. 17 years, gone. A half life, half-lived under a permanent shadow. The knowledge that the other side did exist, both wonderful and devastating because I left it so late and it was waiting there all the time. When I think about how close I came to throwing it away, my stomach turns and it is hard to believe.

Smoking is similar.

I am furious that I have put myself in that position again.

For the past few months, I have been stuck. Back in a place where the focus of the day is lost because my attention is elsewhere. Back in a place where I know there must be another side and don’t quite have the courage to cross the line. Back with the knowledge that I am playing a risky game and yet there is a little voice egging me on and a huge voice telling me that I can’t do it.

Five years ago, I said I’d never smoke again. I guess that there is no such thing as never.

I have been going to the Allen Carr clinic. I thought I’d walk out unburdened and radiant. It hasn’t been like that. I have felt defeated and subdued. The logic has made perfect sense but I stopped trusting my ability to follow logic a long time ago.

I have been trying to draw parallels with my recovery in order to remove any illusions that I may be under and remind myself that there is sunshine on the other side.

In both cases, my head has been the enemy.

I’ve also been trying to remember that smoking is an addiction and chemicals are, in some ways, easier to fight. Four days out of my system and then, bang, my life belongs to me again.

I wonder why that feels so hard.


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