I remember I once stopped smoking cigarettes for a year, and what a glorious year it was. Whilst in traffic I would look at the smokers in their cars and think myself lucky to no longer be a member. The ridiculous facial expressions required to suckle away at that filter – as if it would provide relief. Glad to be rid of the bitter taste loitering in my mouth waiting to contaminate my breath at every chance. Happy that the repugnant waft I would dispel around me everywhere I went was no more. A proper inhalation that didn’t hurt – I was glad to be without; how lucky I was to be free of all that.

And how dumb I was to think that I could handle just one cigarette around a year later. I had that one cigarette that night, and another one the next. Then I would have one after lunch and at night. The next thing I knew I was buying packs and rationing in a desperate attempt of self-control. The worst part of it was feeling the overall depletion of my daily energy.

Here I am at this crossroad again. One that I keep looping around. I must say, the scenery is getting dull, and this entire thing is getting boringly repetitive. This is not how I want to spend my life, weak within the brutal clutches of nicotine. The exit is right in front of me. There are no chains, no fences, no curses anywhere, yet like a magnet, I stay and choose to suffer. I choose this suicide and on my deathbed will regret every drag ever taken. I am forging out the wrong future through weakness and procrastination. What a wonderful example of self-control!

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