that night, along with the acid, i probably smoked more weed than i ever should have. 13-15 bowls between us, i reckon. i thought it would help. it always made me feel good in the past. it was soothing, made me giggle. not that night. it made me more anxious, amplifying my fears. since then, i’ve avoided it. my trigger, as mentioned elsewhere. i replaced it with nicotine. bad choice.
    i think i have an oral fixation. i always need a beverage, or something to smoke. i’ve “quit” a couple of times. 3 or 4 probably. i’ve gone two weeks, even two months without it. everytime i buy more, i say this’ll be the last time. it never is. well, rarely. especially now. i hate it. i probably won’t ever quit unless i’m forced to.
    my grandfather smoked cigarettes and it killed him. he quit when i was born but it was too late. he spent the next couple of decades confined to a tank of oxygen and plastic tubes in his nose. i love him. it was the first funeral i remember going to. i cried a lot that day. more than ever before in my life. i didn’t get to know him well enough. ever since my family moved we drifted apart. even knowing it killed him doesn’t deter me. well, it does, but not enough.
    do i have an addictive personality? not really sure what that means, but i know my hobbies and interests change every few months. whatever i love, i do it until it feels old and stale. addiction.

- Will