An Epiphany and an Action

     I’m wrapped tightly in my jacket with the zipper pulled all the way up. A hood shrouds my head and cheeks, blocking the sharp wind from cutting into my face like it has the back of my hands.

    
     It’s cold, but I made a commitment to these cigarettes when I first started smoking. I told them, “I will smoke you, so long as you keep my feeling alright.” They’ve kept their word throughout this time, and so have I. They’re the one thing I haven’t lied to, and with that, I’ve grown a bond with them tighter than anything I’ve forged before.

     And so out here, I am smoking them one by one. Each puff is alleviating one thought at a time. This isn’t done by magic or anything of the profound sort. Simply put, I am focusing on this cigarette, and it is making my mind feel well and calm… with that, how could I have worries?

     On my porch I am now, with my dog Jimi by my side, and music playing; melodies of Tom Waits and Dave Matthews intertwined like the strands of smoke at the end of my fingertips. I switch songs back and forth between my main artists and those who also speak of love, dreams, and struggle. My nightly routine has become a habit, much like the one I sit out here to fulfill.

     In the midst of a song titled So Damn Lucky, I can’t help but transcend my thoughts and start viewing my life as if I were a stranger. I see myself as this chump, wearing a hood, smoking his cigarettes alone on a porch, freezing. There's an emphasis on alone and cigarette. I begin to think about my current life mission, which is to be who I was before the depression and druggy remedies. I can’t help but attach the cigarette I am holding to the phase of life I slipped in and out of, and how my strong hold on this cigarette has allowed the addiction such perseverance.

     I thought to myself, “This is the last thing I’ve yet to let go of.” And at the end of that thought, I feel the unconscious muscle movement in my arm, pulling the cigarette up to my mouth. I take notice of this and begin to realize things about the habit that wasn't perceived before; how second-nature it is, how underlying it is, so sly and hard to detect. It truly is a slow motion suicide.

     This makes me understand it better, and puts the addiction into the forefront of my thoughts. I begin to think how much I’ve conquered, yet how miniscule all of those things are in the midst of this cigarette. This cigarette is so hard to control, that I've given up any thought of doing so. It's this daunting presence, and I submit to it — practically devote myself to it, even though it will kill me in time. Now, I've been in toxic relationships before, but I had always gotten out of them eventually. How would i get out of this one? 

     With this… thought of quitting now set before me, I begin to think of myself having conquered this craving. For the first time ever, I really put some time and effort into imagining the benefits of quitting. Health isn’t a concern. It never has been. If the rational were, “this is bad for my health”, and that was what got me to quit, then I would have never started in the first place! No, that will not be my answer. I don’t give a shit about my body. I need something conceptual, for I’ve already given up on the routines and guidelines of this physical world. Instead of health concerns, I think of my identity.

     Quitting cigarettes would mean the return of the Alex who was lost so long ago. Alex before the depression was ambitious, as I am now. Alex before the depression looked for the beauty in this world, as I do now. Alex before the depression was not a creature of detrimental habits, unlike how I am now. To become Alex again would mean to be everything he was, and nothing he would never be… I’m looking at my cigarette now.

     What would it take for me to quit this? Quite literally…I would just have to drop it. My hand is already outstretched with the tip of the cigarette hovering over the ash canteen. I would just need to relieve my fingertips of rigor mortis and walk inside. But to do that would be to fly. To let go now would mean self-actualization. To do that now would mean to conquer Everest. But to do that now would mean to see Alex again and have him back, and in my mind I could hug and hold him and tell him how much I missed him.

     That was my answer. That was all I needed. I felt this overwhelming sense of happiness, of excitement with little space left for reluctance. The idea of accomplishing something nearly impossible with the flick of the wrist, and in turn receive all that I’ve been searching for was something I could not pass up.

     There wasn’t much time between conception of the thought and the action, for there was no questioning needed. I pushed the end of my cigarette hard against the rim of the canteen, snapping it in half. One half of the Titanic sunk, never to be seen again. The other half was released from my hand a split second later. I stood up and went inside, taking out the pack I had bought just hours before. In the kitchen, I stood over the trashcan and split the rest of them in half with one counter-motioning of my two fists.

     I saw them broken into pieces amongst the trash. For the first time, cigarettes looked dirty.

My 18th Secret

          I was the only car on the road and luckily hitting every green light. I couldn’t go to bed because my mind was operating faster and more reckless than my driving. I needed to stop somewhere to collect my thoughts. I pulled into a CVS and parked next to the handicap spot- no one seemed to be out that night. I rolled down my window to take in fresh air. I did this for a couple of minutes, like how one would before a breath holding contest. I was opening my lungs and mind for what seemed needed…

            I’d always been very healthy, considering my asthma. Asthma strains my breath. It makes my chest pump. It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you right after you got the wind knocked out of you. I can run long distances, just not swim them. I can lift a lot of weight, just not explosively. I’m a stallion with stilletos for horse shoes; so much potential, but inhibited by such a silly quality.
            Just before I had parked at CVS, a lover's quarrel was holding me back from my full potential, from happiness and content. Fortunately for me, a new avenue was opened up that night, an avenue that offers relief to many people. Going to the gym or listening to cathartic songs as remedies were becoming weak. So... the obvious choice for me at the time was to try something new.

Hi. I’m Alex Lessard. Can I have a pack of Camel 99s please?

Hi Alex Lessard, can I have your ID?

Oh yeah, sure.

I handed her my license. When she said happy birthday, I couldn’t help beaming. I wasn't innocent. I was buying cigarettes: 20 grown up pixie sticks. I also got a lighter; it was red and gray with a rubber grip. BIC made it… I’m doing my adult back to school shopping, I thought to myself.
I walked out and back into my car. I tore off the plastic to the pack, and held it to my nose. It smelled like raisins. I love raisins.
The foil inside made it even more exciting, almost as if it were the golden ticket found in only select Wonka bars. Pulling that golden tab off, I revealed my candy delights, all lined up, pristine and white. So clean, how can people say this is a dirty habit? I took the lower right hand corner one out. I put the orange tipped end to my mouth and held it there with my lips, which were dry for some reason. I broke open the lighter packaging, held the ligher up close, and ground its wheel to the end of my cigarette. It sparked at first, then on the second it flamed. I breathed in a little and saw smoke coming from the end of the cigarette. I rolled down all the windows and held my steering wheel. Another inhale and my lungs captured all the smoke, later pumping it back up through my nose. I took the cig away from my mouth and held it outside my window. I could see it glowing orange, and I thought it was beautiful. My own campfire. I watched it there for a few seconds with my arm outstretched. I swirled it around quickly. It sucks that my name isn’t JD; Alex is hard to spell out with sparklers. I’m done with kid stuff, up to my mouth again. I watched this time looking down the bridge of my nose. The tip of the cigarette was flaking away, moving the line of decay closer to me, leaving a wake of smoldering ash behind it. It was very cool. What I’m doing is very cool.
After nursing that one, I tried a second. Hand to mouth, hand to mouth. An oral fixation developing. My fingers clamped it, lips grasped it, and my lungs used it. They used all of it. My asthma seemed to have taken a break.
After I had finished, I put the key back to the ignition and started my car. Holding the stub of my cig out over the pavement, I tossed it down.
My adult life started with one of its many privileges being used to its fullest. My conflicting thoughts had been soothed with the mellowing of a good cigarette. One of many 18th clichés, marked off. Self-therapy by way of drug, check.