Dear Cigarettes: I Get it, You Win.

Until almost 5 years ago I didn’t know what life could be like without you. You have had a hold on my family since the day I was born. My first breathes in my home were filled with you so it’s no wonder why I turned to you in an attempt to feel older, cooler when I was 12. You were everywhere, in my house, in my parent’s car, in their hands; you have been slowly destroying all of us my entire life.

I never really knew what food tasted like, what flowers actually smelt like, I never smelt the grass or the ocean because you took that all away from me through them and later I helped you do it to myself. You sucked every joy from me for almost 35 years; joys I didn’t even know existed because you were always there.

I didn’t want to give you up almost 5 years ago, I loved you. I loved the way you burned in my lungs. I loved the way you felt between my fingers and sometimes I still long for that feeling. I loved the way I thought you made me look, the way you made me feel. I loved you with vodka, I loved you with tea, I loved you while driving in my car. I had to have you before I did anything and everything. I loved you more than I loved myself or anyone for that matter, until him. He had no choice but to be growing inside my body, so I put you out for the last time. I haven’t touched you since I got pregnant because of him, my Henry; which is why until today it has silently broken my heart that I haven’t been enough for my parents to do the same.

I know they love me, but your grip on them is so damn tight that the love they have for me is not enough to let you go, and I hate you because of it. You are killing them and I hate you! They tell me they will quit you and I want to believe them, but at the first sign of trouble and you come creeping back in every time.  They allow your black tar and grey seductive smoke to wrap around them sucking the very life out of them. In the end they always choose you. In the end I am never enough.

You are killing them and I want to save them, but I am the one who gets yelled at because I’m begging them to stop as they grab you and walk out the door to light you up and draw in your death. I don’t know how to live without them and don’t want to, yet my pleas are never enough. I am never enough for them to leave you.

The worst part is that I get it. I was addicted to you too and I know how sweet your song of death is. I knew the truth about you. I knew you were killing me but I just didn’t care. I was so addicted to you that just like them I wouldn’t look at what you are doing to me. So I know you’ve won, I know I won’t reach them. I know no matter what I say, no matter what I do it won’t change the fact that I have to watch them die; you have them and soon I won’t. Because they can’t or won’t see what you are doing to them which means I will bury them too soon. I can feel it coming and I am not ready.

It’s your fault and it’s their fault…but I God hate you.

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