sometimes self-care might just be a cigarette

This isn't just about "the act of smoking."

The only pack of cigarettes I ever bought, I drunkenly lost immediately—still sealed, not opened, brand new ... what a waste of money. Back then they must have been around 5€—God, time flies — it's money I could just as easily have flushed down the drain.

This was my sign from the universe to never waste my money on another pack.

Years and years went by; I stood by my word and never got another one, nor will I. Instead I was scrounging a cigarette or two during parties, once every six months.

So when I got offered a cigarette a few weeks ago, that I had been craving for what must have been over a month at this point, I gratefully accepted it. That's how it usually goes anyway; you get a little tipsy, and suddenly all you need to be fulfilled for life is a little rush of nicotine.

That cigarette was exactly what I needed.

I even smoked a second one that I didn't really need, to be honest, but I wanted to feel the satisfaction of the first, which of course wasn't nearly as satisfying.

My craving was gone, even so far gone that the thought of another possible cigarette anywhere in the near (and far) future repulsed me completely.

I came up with the theory that I had been craving this one particular cigarette so badly because I was dating a guy that used to snus. It wasn't my first rodeo either - I'd already lost half my mind once because of an unwanted nicotine craving, that I had because of a man - and it was also confirmation of a theory I'd had for a long time: I believe one can develop a co-dependeny towards it.

Never in my life would I have thought of smoking a cigarette first thing in the morning; suddenly I did.

I was thinking about it daily, even tormenting my friends about it, who luckily talked me out of starting to smoke (thanks), because of my sudden signs of withdrawal when things ended with that guy.

Of course it only makes sense to me now that I can look back at it.

The point I want to make is that I KNEW how bad it would be to smoke or just get one of those cancer sticks when I'm sober. So, I never did smoke a cigarette, up until the point where I was drunkenly offered one. Describing that cigarette as heavenly would just paint the picture darker than it was, but hypothetically(!) it was exactly that.

I gave in, after months of fighting the urge, knowing that it would speak against my integrity of not wanting to be a smoker. I am usually very intentional about what I eat, drink, and consume. Health being my number one priority, and after I had recently learned that statistically one cigarette reduces your life for about 20 minutes, I got even more cautious.

Wow, this little fiasco cost me like 35 minutes of my life (I shared the second cig with my sister).

I knew the statistics; I knew I wouldn't necessarily benefit from it. My friends told me not to give in ("Lea, smoking does not suit your aesthetic")—gaslighting even a little bit, yet I knew for sure that actually doing it would make the urge go away.

Just like the relief you feel from scratching a mosquito bite.

Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing in order to make things right.

Simple as that.

And that's not to excuse people's shitty behavior or the white lies some like to tell themselves. It's a purely internal process and your own decision to do something for (or to) yourself.

An action that comes from you and reflects back on you, with an almost desperate need for change. Something you do to feel better.

It's not to be judged from the outside.

Commonly known things deemed bad might actually be the right thing in the moment and are exactly what you need.

Is it a "bad thing" if it helped you in the end anyway?

I just scratched my mosquito bite.

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I still can't imagine smoking a cigarette in the foreseeable future.

xoxo, Lea