Member-only story
Smoking is not easy…
As in easy to quit.
I started smoking at 15–16 years old, thought it would make me look cool and sexy. It was all for the opposite sex, as the guy I liked was a smoker, and didn’t see a better way to get in to the ‘’cool kids group’’. Sad part is …it worked. And the jump from feeling like puking the entire content of my stomach, to far too many years, smoking a cigarette was the first thing and the last thing I did every single day. No exceptions. Loving every single one of at times 1–2 packs a day.
I was known for always carrying cigarettes on me at all times. Some friends and acquaintances even admitted that they didn’t buy cigarettes because they knew I’d always have some, and it was easier to pay me for them, and this way lessen their addiction.
Smoking a cigarette was the highlight of most things I enjoyed, from a good cup of coffee, to a good meal, to a god session of sex. Nothing compared to it, it would relax me when I was stressed, it would make me enjoy the good things in my life more.
It was my dirty little secret as well, because most of my family didn’t know I smoked. I was a grown up by the time regret of this bad habit hit me full front and central. And once a year I started saying it was the last one, the last time I did it…but it had to be special, it had to be on my terms, I had to enjoy it to the full extent of…
