Addiction; misunderstood.

An overwhelming sense of relief engulfed my being as I breathed in my freshly lit stick of winston reds. It was like my problems floated away along with the thick clouds of smoke that rose up to he heavens. For this 5 minutes, everything would be alright. Doesn't matter that my Dad was an avusive drunk. Doesn't matter that my Mom was in the hospital recovering from Dad's previous rampage. This 5 minutes feel like everything was alright.

"Fuck, not in the fucking room Jonas..."
Cheryl sighed. She threw on a t-shirt and stormed out, with no visible effort to prevent the door from slamming shut.

I paid no attention to her. Cheryl was a nice girl and I liked her. But she just didn't understand. Nobody did. "You're gonna die young if you keep that up." They always nagged. Don't they know that nothing interesting happens after you're 30 anyway. Kids, illnesses, responsibilities. Only increasing burdens await with less gratification.

"You're such a weakling, letting rolled up pieces of grass control your life." Are they fucking retarded? I'm the one in control. It's my choice. Not a need.

There was another thing they were wrong about. It wasn't smoking persay that i was addicted to. It was that consistency. I needed that constant. I feel gratified amd relieved even when I light up a cigarette. I know the fire will spread from the tip to the tangles of tobacco. I know the bitter after taste that comes after each breath of smoke. I know the buzz that gets to my head will come in approximately 12 seconds. Everything i expects to happen, happens. That fucking consistency is what I need. That constant feel of numbess that I known I can get whenever I want to.

Unlike the disappointment I face when expecting my dad to come home at night. In place of happiness and pride when I received good grades in school, only sorrow and fear was awaiting me in a home where Dad threw a chair at my Mom.

I'm not addicted to smoking. I'm addicted to constants. People change, perspectives change, situations change. Every fucking thing ALWAYS changes. It frustrates me to not know what to expect. What to prepare for. Hence my desire. My need. My addiction. To consistency. To constants