Today I bought another pack of cigarettes and I’m smoking from it. Writing that down doesn’t feel great. It feels like I’m admitting defeat, or at least admitting that things aren’t going the way I hoped they would. To anyone following along, it may even look like I’ve stopped trying.
But the truth is a little more complicated.
For now, I’m taking a break from trying to quit.
The doctor recently diagnosed me with depression, and I believe it’s connected to the frustration and disappointment around my attempts to stop smoking. Depression isn’t just sadness. People often think it’s about feeling blue or emotional, but the real experience is closer to gravity. A kind of heavy pull. Like something is pressing down on your shoulders and quietly draining the energy out of everything.
Even simple things start to feel like climbing a hill.
Between the depression and the cigarettes, my breathing hasn’t been great lately. I get tired easier. I feel sluggish. Sometimes it’s hard to get moving at all. That “get up and go” energy just isn’t showing up the way it used to.
Still, life hasn’t stopped.
My badges for WonderCon came in the mail, which is a pretty big deal. That’s one of the major events I’ve been preparing for with my art and books. When I held those badges in my hands it reminded me that there are still things ahead of me. Booths to set up. Paintings to show. Books to talk about. People to meet.
Even when the personal battles get messy, the creative life keeps calling.
So I’m trying to focus on what is working.
There’s Whiskey Kitty, of course. She seems to have appointed herself the official emotional support department of this whole operation. Whether it’s chasing her little red ball, climbing across the bed, or just curling up nearby and purring like a tiny motorboat, she has a way of pulling me back into the moment.
Cats have a strange kind of therapy. They don’t lecture. They don’t give advice. They just show up, share love, and remind you that life is still happening.
And then there’s the art.
Painting has always been one of the few things that can redirect my thinking. When I’m sketching or working on watercolors, my mind stops circling around the same problems. The brush takes over. Colors start talking to each other. Shapes begin forming personalities.
Art doesn’t ask if you’re winning or losing. It just asks if you’re willing to keep making the next mark.
That’s something I can still do.
I’ve also been surprised by the support from people who read this blog. A few messages, a few encouraging comments, even just knowing someone out there is following along with this strange little public journal. That means more than people might realize.
Sometimes the smallest voices carry the most weight.
So for now, things are shifting.
Maybe this isn’t exactly a Smoker’s Journal at the moment. Maybe it’s turning into something else for a while. A creativity journal. A pet therapy group. A record of a man, his art, and a slightly mischievous cat trying to figure life out one day at a time.
The smoking battle hasn’t ended. It’s just… paused while I regain some strength.
And strength can come from unexpected places.
A paintbrush.
A purring cat.
A badge in the mail that says the next adventure is still on the calendar.
Once again, I got this. 🐾🎨
by Dan and Bonkers
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