The fight with Mom didn’t end when the words stopped.
It kept playing afterward.
I call it the tapes.
You know the kind. Old recordings that loop in your head, replaying the harshest lines anyone ever said. Not the compliments. Not the forgiveness. Just the sharp edges, over and over, like a broken record that only knows one song.
This time it involved family, so I’ll leave the details out. But the emotional echo stuck around long after the argument ended.
And I didn’t help my situation.
I missed my medication yesterday.
I loaded up on caffeine.
My system was already wound tight like a guitar string tuned too high.
Then the fight happened.
And this morning I smoked.
Not because I forgot my goal. Not because I don’t care.
Because I was angry. Because I was overwhelmed. Because I wanted the noise inside my head to quiet down for a minute.
That’s the honest truth about addiction. Sometimes it isn’t about the cigarette. It’s about turning down the emotional volume.
But here’s another truth.
I’m living in my mother’s home. I’m a guest here. And she’s in her 80s. When I get upset, it scares her. When things escalate, the stakes feel higher for both of us.
This isn’t just my battle. It affects the whole house.
For a while, I thought focusing on art and Whiskey Kitty would be enough. And they do help. Art steadies my hands. The cat steadies my heart.
But lately, that hasn’t been enough by itself.
I’m starting to realize I may need more support. Maybe a group. Maybe stronger structure. Maybe additional accountability. Something beyond willpower and good intentions.
Because addiction is a strange opponent.
It’s not you versus cigarettes.
It’s you versus yourself.
And I don’t win those fights by pretending setbacks don’t happen.
So today, I’m calling this what it is.
A setback. Not a failure. Not the end. Just a step backward in a long process forward.
There are many theories about addiction. Some people talk about total abstinence, sudden transformation, a clean break with the past.
That’s not how I work.
I’m not someone who flips a switch and becomes a different person overnight. For me, change is gradual. Uneven. Two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes two steps back. Then forward again.
The theory that makes the most sense to me is simple:
Do it less and less.
Reduce the frequency. Reduce the dependence. Reduce the automatic response. Keep shrinking the habit until it no longer runs the show.
That’s the strategy. That’s the process.
And yes, this time I smoked because I was mad.
But I also recognized it. I may be smoking today, but that doesn't mean give up. I didn’t tell myself, “Well, I blew it, might as well keep going.”
That right there is progress.
The real danger isn’t the cigarette.
The danger is the story that comes after it.
You failed.
You can’t do this.
Why bother trying?
I’m not telling that story.
I’m telling this one instead:
Today was hard.
Today I slipped.
Tomorrow I try again.
Because recovery, for me, isn’t a decision.
It’s a construction project.
Brick by brick. Day by day. Argument by argument. Craving by craving. Calm moment by calm moment.
And sometimes the tapes play. Sometimes the emotions spike. Sometimes the old reflex wins.
But the direction still matters more than the moment.
Addiction is fighting yourself.
And even on the days I lose a round…
Once again, I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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