I'm going through a break up right now and I have to tell you guys, it's probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Every day, I wake up absolutely determined that THIS is the day, this day, is the time that it's finally, really over. I tell all my friends, either angrily gesturing wildly, or elated and hopeful, that it's over, that I'm done. And they're proud! They're supportive; they're so happy for me that I've reached a point where I can admit that I want to take myself away from the misery I'm in. Because people don't change unless the pain of changing is less than the pain of staying the same and I am the embodiment of that gahdawful cliche right now, absolutely.
Thing is, every single day, I'm lying.
And saying that I'm done, saying that I want out? Only makes me get mad separation anxiety. Makes me want it more. I can't stop. I'm addicted.
I'm listening to my playlist right now, thinking about it. Thinking about how much I want to weaken like I have so many times before. Even though Rufus Wainwright and Atom & His Package are begging me not to, telling me that I know how this cycle ends and it's not anything I want in my life. It literally makes my heart hurt and my chest feel like it's caving in. It hurts me emotionally and physically, it's horrible. And yet....
It's that endless cycle, man. And we've all been through it, that moment where all you're wanting is a poignant farewell, like the ones they have in the movies, where all you can hear in your brain is Brokeback Fucking Mountain. Wanting any sort of resolution or epiphany, a moment where we feel ok. Where the soft alt rock music is building, with the singer about to give you the gift of his emotions (which are oddly reminiscent of your emotions! Whoa! You mean other people feel things too!?). But the music is building and your heartbeat is going in time as you feel that possibility flooding you, because you know it hurts but every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end, goddamnit, and YOU ARE FREE.
And I swear, movies and song lyrics and just living in my own brain have ruined forever any possibility I have for getting through this kind of ending with any bit of dignity. So I make a scene. I act a fucking fool, because I don't want anyone to know anything is wrong. I pretend like what I'm doing is helping, when really, I'm devolving into this embarrassing cycle of destructive behaviour that affects ALL aspects of my life, not just the thing I'm trying to get away from. I get rull awkward, I drink just little differently than I did before, trying to escape the fact that I feel like I'm fucking drowning. But I am not. I'm just being a big sad face baby. Because that's what happens sometimes when you're breaking up with your way of life. Because it's never just about the person and in that same regard, what I'm going through right now is not just about the smoking.
But yeah, you want to give yourself this good memory. You pick a sunset as your background as you light up and watch the blue grey smoke swirl towards it into the breeze while you sit with this faraway look on your face. You savor each drag, suppress each cough and think about the things that matter, or the things you love, or the things you want or hell, nothing at all because this is your time. You make it fucking beautiful in your head. This is it, the final moment, and these moments are precious.
That One.Last.Cigarette is like fucking someone good-bye. It is flawed logic but you want it to be something good for you, so badly. Something positive you can savor in the middle of the big fucking mess you've made of your choices. And you can laugh at that analogy, but if you do, you've probably never quit smoking. And I kind of fucking hate you right now. Because I hate everyone, especially myself for starting this disgusting practice in the first place.
Don't feel bad, guys... I don't really hate you... it's just the withdrawal.
And I wish it could be like that, background and deep talk with yourself and it's over and you're moving on. I wish I could be like that. But I'm not. If I could drunk text cigarettes from the bar, I would. Not that I really have to, 'cause the minute I think about leaving forever, I run straight back, frantically sucking my poison into my lungs as fast as I can. But maybe it's the stress of everything else, I still need those moments where I'm a hardass with that filterless cigarette in my mouth, like I don't know what it's like to wake up gasping for breath 'cause asthma and smoking don't mix well. Where I am a Rebel Without A Clue that I am harming my body, don't look cool at all, smell awful and need to stop paying money for something that will kill me. But eventually this will end. I know it. I'll put my real badass hat on and walk away into the sunset without needing it to be poignant or an escape or anything but my life, where all my veins have to pump is my blood. And I can't wait, but really, guys... I still wouldn't hold your breath.
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