This morning the cravings came back strong—strong enough to make me step outside, sit in the sun, and start plotting my next cigarette like a mastermind. If I could just find a sneaky way to do it… a secret puff… a hidden drag… something nobody will know about.
But who am I fooling? I’m not a nine-year-old raiding the cookie jar anymore. There’s no innocent thrill here. I’d be plotting a plan of action to use an addictive drug that has already tried to kill me. There’s a difference between harmless temptation and self-destruction, and today I was walking the wrong side of that line.
So instead of obeying the craving, I walked back inside. I set up my drawing table—my sanctuary—and went to find the cat. Whiskey has started to take to me more and more each day. She’s loving, playful, curious, and far easier on my lungs and heart than cigarettes ever were.
Holding her, watching her little paws stretch and curl, the craving passed. Not instantly, not magically, but slowly—like smoke fading in fresh air. I reminded myself why I’m doing this. Why I’m still here. Why I keep saying yes to life and no to that old poison.
I struggled this morning, but I chose art. I chose the cat. I chose myself.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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