Smoking cigarettes was single-handedly the worst decision I’ve ever made.
It’s a decision that I’ve continued to make, thousands of times.
I’ll admit, those words scare me.
It almost feels like I’m giving up a piece of me, discarding a physical extension of my body.
I lament its friendship, escape, excuse to opt out, if only just for a minute.
Cigarettes are an introvert’s best friend, but they’re the death of them, also.
And, I have a lust for life that is incompatible with the sludge of a slow, cowardly form of suicide.
Today I quit and announce it not for encouragement, but for accountability.
No more anxiety attacks because I’m self-conscious that my odor is a first impression of my intelligence.
No more sneaking open the patio door to my townhouse under the sounds of a passing car to muffle my inconsideration.
No more staying up for an extra hour to have one last cigarette.
So many times, I’ve broken the promise to quit smoking that it’s become meaningless.
This I know.
This time is different.
As the flowers bloom, my life changes.
Today is different from yesterday.