Tuesday, February 21, 2006

I'm not really ready yet...

A glimpse into the thoughts of a weak-minded person.

Note, I did not say simple minded. I prefer to think that my level of intelligence is average to above average, aside from my naive moments, which I do not believe are attributed to stupidity so much as lack of experience. Weak minded, as in I was controlled my whole life by someone other then myself until I was divorced at 26, which subsequently left me in charge of myself. That resulted in a few, if not several, poor choices. Those choices, however, were MY choices and they were educational if nothing else. One thing I have learned is that someone or something needs to control me, because I just don't have it in me. I was trained that way, so to speak, and it's hard to un-train yourself.

I need a crutch. I need an excuse. If something bothers me, upsets me or pisses me off, I need a distraction, or I will suffocate in my panicked and fragmented thought processes. Hence, I enjoyed smoking. I could change channels when I lit that cigarette. A temporary distraction which caused me to focus on something other than the issue I had exaggerated in my mind (even though it was no doubt having a negative impact on the rest of my body). I would still enjoy smoking if it were up to me. Well, if I could pretend it wasn't bad for me. And, in reality, it COULD be up to me, but someone is making sure I realize that not smoking is better for me. I know this, anyway (again, I am weak, not stupid). But dammit, I don't want to stop. I want to play dumb and blame everyone else for my mistakes and problems and just have one more cigarette.

Yet, who ever really has one more? You can't eat just one more Lays potato chip, you can't drink just one more Bud Light, you can't have sex just once (ok, unless the other person is really, really not that good and you are just that desparate to get your rocks off and then, ew, you think, "what did I just do?"), and you sure as hell can't just have one more cigarette.

Ah, I remember the days when I was a social smoker. I went to the bar. I drank. I smoked. I laughed. I had fun. I went home. Where I did not drink or smoke (carryover from my mother's control over me - you can't smoke in a house and you don't drink at home. Alcoholics drink at home).

Why can't I just be like that again? I know why. Because that isn't good for you either. And one more would turn into two more, into three more, into four more; pretty soon it will be like those nights out when you finally realize that you have said "I'll have one more" at least three times to the grinning bartender, teaching you to instead say, "I'll have another". (It is common for a few people I know to hold up their hand to the bartender, say "I'll have one more", but the 5 fingers waggling in the air indicate otherwise. This is what happens when you are friends with both the patrons and the bartenders of the establishment. Everyone smiles and nods knowingly.)

I suppose I will continue with my scattered thought processes until this thing finally has no more control over me.

Maybe that is what is bothering me so much more than giving up the act?

Not allowing something to have control over me?

Which would put me in control.


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