Nicotine, you're my only friend!

  I can't tell you how many times I've said that exact statement.  If you know me personally, you've probably heard me say it in a moment of stress on my way out a door to smoke.  It is true.  Nicotine has been my only friend for a long time.  Nicotine has brought only bad things to our relationship while I have championed and supported it.

  While I am intelligent enough to know that this is a horribly lopsided arrangement, it doesn't soothe my ache at ending this poisonous friendship by dumping my BFF.  Let me explain to you what cigarettes mean to me:

  They are TRULY my constant companion.  I don't leave home without them.  They are always there for me when I need them.  I don't question their motives and they don't disappoint me.  When it has been a long time since I've had a cigarette, I can feel the nicotine spread its calming fingers through my system.  They make my stress less stressful.  They make my excitement more exciting.  They bring me into social circles of which I might otherwise never be a part.  I spend more time fostering a connection with cigarettes than with any other entity in my life.  They keep me company when I'm driving, talking on the phone, drinking.  They are my break system when I'm cleaning, working, waiting, during commercials.  I love the habit.  

  Nicotine does not requite my love.  This is what cigarettes DO to me:

  They make me dependent.  They make my clothes, car, breath, hands and hair stink.  They render perfume into a waste of time and money.  They keep me from fully engaging in my life.  I am always more focused on getting away to have a cigarette than enjoying what I'm doing.  They make me weak and breathless.  The money that I've spent on cigarettes the last 15 years (15 FLIPPIN' YEARS) could have paid for so many other life-affirming things.

  I have a heart condition that requires medication.  I also have high blood pressure that requires a different medication.  Yet I continue to remain faithful to the one that will kill me.  This is such stupidity that it makes me sick.  I have no feelings of pity for diabetics who don't eat properly and cause themselves great harm.  I don't sympathize with anyone who does anything to exacerbate any medical issue they have.  Because it's dumb.  Ignorant.  

  And here am I.  Ignoring the horrid thunking of my poor struggling heart when I jack it up with nicotine first thing in the morning.  Pretending I'm not gasping for breath when I get to the top of the stairs.  Praying every night that this night not be the one my heart decides it's had enough of me.  Acting like I'm not committing suicide with every drag.

  What the hell?
 
  I have to quit.  I have to.  It is getting closer to life and death than I ever imagined possible.  I'm not disillusioned with thoughts of immortality anymore.  It is not a fun, harmless, social habit.
  This is the most idiotic confession I've ever had to make.  But I'm putting it here for you to see.  And me.  Because I'm so completely and utterly over it.  I'm not asking for your pity, or even your understanding.  It is so effing stupid that I sometimes wonder if there is any of me left in me.
  I want to breathe.  I want to see my son grow up.  I want to invest myself in myself.  I want to quit smoking.