My faithful friend
My Faithful Friend
The addiction to smoking cigarettes surmounts over the life of a smoker. What began as a meaningless childhood habit of doing something you’re not supposed to do, turned into an addiction that’s almost impossible to quit, and will probably be the nails that seal my coffin.
As a child the addiction was actually not that of the actual cigarettes. My first memory of smoking was in fifth grade. I was at school with another boy out in a field beyond the playground lying in a ditch. I had brought the cigarettes and matches that I had lifted off my older brother. We each had smoked about half of the cigarette when the bell rang and we had to rush back. I was sitting in class and the teacher was pacing around my desk stating that she smelled smoke. I persistently denied smelling smoke and she eventually went back to teaching the class. I remember the feeling of almost getting caught--the excitement, the rush, almost like a high. At this point early in my addiction, I wasn’t addicted to the cigarettes but to the thrill of doing something wrong and getting away with it.
As I grew older, my teens turned into twenties. I was old enough to legally smoke, and the “thrill” slowly faded into a physical addiction. The overwhelming feeling that I needed it set in. It calmed me, relaxed me, and comforted me. Everything I did, everywhere I went, I HAD to smoke. I would wake every morning to a cup of coffee and a cigarette, then another while driving to work. While I was at work I would take a break and go smoke. If I didn’t have a cigarette in my hand, I would be thinking about smoking.
Now that my thirties have turned to forties, my feelings regarding my habit have changed once again. No longer is it the 80’s where everyone I knew smoked including my family and friends. My father has since quit after his heart attack. Two of my brothers have managed to kick the habit. It’s certainly no longer the politically correct thing to
The addiction to smoking cigarettes surmounts over the life of a smoker. What began as a meaningless childhood habit of doing something you’re not supposed to do, turned into an addiction that’s almost impossible to quit, and will probably be the nails that seal my coffin.
As a child the addiction was actually not that of the actual cigarettes. My first memory of smoking was in fifth grade. I was at school with another boy out in a field beyond the playground lying in a ditch. I had brought the cigarettes and matches that I had lifted off my older brother. We each had smoked about half of the cigarette when the bell rang and we had to rush back. I was sitting in class and the teacher was pacing around my desk stating that she smelled smoke. I persistently denied smelling smoke and she eventually went back to teaching the class. I remember the feeling of almost getting caught--the excitement, the rush, almost like a high. At this point early in my addiction, I wasn’t addicted to the cigarettes but to the thrill of doing something wrong and getting away with it.
As I grew older, my teens turned into twenties. I was old enough to legally smoke, and the “thrill” slowly faded into a physical addiction. The overwhelming feeling that I needed it set in. It calmed me, relaxed me, and comforted me. Everything I did, everywhere I went, I HAD to smoke. I would wake every morning to a cup of coffee and a cigarette, then another while driving to work. While I was at work I would take a break and go smoke. If I didn’t have a cigarette in my hand, I would be thinking about smoking.
Now that my thirties have turned to forties, my feelings regarding my habit have changed once again. No longer is it the 80’s where everyone I knew smoked including my family and friends. My father has since quit after his heart attack. Two of my brothers have managed to kick the habit. It’s certainly no longer the politically correct thing to