I’m not going to lie. Today was hectic, loud, tempting, and just plain exhausting. One of those days that tests you not with fireworks, but with a slow drip of pressure. The kind that whispers instead of shouts. And yes, I almost smoked. Several times.
The afternoon was packed with medical business. Two imaging tests back-to-back, followed by a stop at the clinic where they were having a holiday party. On top of that, I had to pick up my meds. A full plate for anyone, let alone someone trying to keep their footing while walking away from a decades-long habit.
While waiting at the clinic, I found myself staring at the old smoking spot outside. The same place where I’d smoked for years. It was right there, like an abandoned stage set from a former life. Familiar. Comfortable. Dangerous.
Even with my mom sitting nearby and my caseworker there, supportive and present, the pull was strong. Stronger than I wanted to admit. Without them, I might have done it. That’s the honest truth. I sat there for almost two hours, watching people smoke at that spot, mentally plotting and planning how I could sneak one in, how I could get away with it, how I could make it “just one.” And the strangest part is that I didn’t even recognize what I was doing at first. It felt automatic, like muscle memory of the mind.
Smoking has taken a heavy toll in the mental health world for a long time. It used to be everywhere. Hospital rooms. Designated indoor areas. Fenced-off outdoor spaces where patients could smoke endlessly, almost encouraged by the system itself. Slowly, that culture is being weeded out, but the ghosts of it are still there. Especially for people like me who lived inside that system for years.
I tried to reason with myself. Could I just have one? Would it really matter? If no one found out, would I tell anyone? That question hit hard. Some of my most supportive friends would have been genuinely upset. Others would have been disappointed but quiet about it. And then there’s me, who would know either way.
In the end, I didn’t risk it.
We finally left the clinic. The spell broke. Mom took me to Burlington Coat Factory and bought me a Christmas suit, which felt oddly symbolic. Like dressing the present version of myself instead of the old one. She also picked up some new growing food for Whiskey Kitty, who continues to be both chaos and comfort rolled into one tiny fur missile.
Now I’m home. Calm again. The urge has passed, at least for today. The day that started with medical machines and temptation ended with family, a kitten, and relief. That’s not nothing.
Happy holidays to all of you who read this, who encourage me, who check in, who quietly root for me even when I don’t see it. Your support matters more than you know.
I didn’t smoke today.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
SUPPORT MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS TODAY!!!!
