smoking

Smoking. I used to hate when my mother would come into the house reeking of the smell of cigarettes. Like any good child, I frequently asked/begged her to stop. She didn’t listen. Or she pretended to. The truth is smoking and my mother’s relationship with the habit should have been the least of my worries. Her addiction to nicotine was much more bearable than her mood swings, her unpredictable behavior, the I’m your best friend then I’m your worst nightmare. There were no metal hangers scenes but there were others. There was a time she told me I would never see her again if I didn’t tell my pediatrician I wanted to live with her. In the midst of a custody battle, I thought it was true. I was eight.

So it was a surprise to me when I found myself with a cigarette in between my index and middle fingers for many years of my life. It all started the same with the typical you try it in high school around 14 and you are such a novice you don’t know how to inhale properly to I had a pack of cigarettes in my dorm room ready for an am smoke or for my typical chain smoking of drinking. Cigarettes-what I used to hate more than most things became my best friend. I was never alone. I could always be comforted. I had a pack. I smoked to celebrate. I smoked when I was drunk. I smoked when I was upset. I fucking smoked a lot. Still how did this thing about my mother become mine? It is strange that she stays with me after so much time. I know the research that a parent who smokes has a strong effect on their child’s future potential to blah, blah, blah. I was taught it was the way to cope. Even though there was a guilt I had for doing it, always. It never went away. The complexity of recreation and guilt never truly allowed me to stomach it properly. My father’s oldest friends wife once told me that she remembers my mom smoked while nursing me. Nice, I thought. It was the late 70’s; I’ll give you that but come on. Still, there was comfort in knowing that the addiction might have found its way in some of my first meals making it not entirely my fault. I eventually gave them up. I did keep an emergency pack for awhile. New years and birthdays I give myself the day off. Also, if my heart is broken. That happens more often than not.