I just finished my last cigarette. I think I smoked that thing down to the filter and THEN had another drag. I watched it hit the ground and burn for a while. That was it. The end. The end of an era for me.
I have been smoking since I was 15 years old. I quit with each one of my pregnancies and have been smoking socially for about 8 years. I hate everything about it. I hate that the way I smell. I hate the way it affects my asthma and I hate when my children tell me not to smoke. I don’t know why I have held on as long as I have. I don’t crave the nicotine, I crave the memories of being young and letting my hair down. For me, its moving on from a point in my life and growing up. I have to admit I am kinda scared.
I just pray that God helps me when I have had a few drinks and my alter ego “CeCe” comes out to play. CeCe doesn’t give a shit about anything and loves to do crazy things. I know I am strong enough to silence her but I don’t know to what extent. I pray that I never have to say the words “I QUIT!” again.
Tomorrow I am going to wake up and have my children write me a letter to keep with me in my purse. I want them to tell me why they don’t want me to smoke and I want to read that letter over and over when “CeCe” comes to play.