My teeth are going to shatter,
But it doesn’t matter
The smoke enters my mouth,
Coating my lungs,
Scraping the membranes off of my tongue.
I don’t sing…I sung
Before cigarette’s won.
When I think about em I think “Give me one, please.”
“Don’t Mutherfuckin’ tease.”
“Get on your mutherfuckin’ knees!”
I know it,
Cause I ho it.
I can’t breathe when I take a hit
and I can’t breathe when I don’t, shit.
The feeling remits, my jaw muscles feel like a muzzle
The reason I quit becomes a puzzle
Cause speed down two weeks and I’m like an infant with a special gift
Right about now I could be Phillip Morris’s number one missionary,
pick a word in the dictionary and I’ll justify why my brain activity
looks like a chunk of Italy or a piece of Swiss cheese
as I nicotease my cilia without remorse.
I will quit, of course,
But I will always be smoking in my head.
A year and a half ago I put a moratorium on my drinking. Part of my “trap” included telling myself that I’d get in better shape and lose the pounds that 4,000 empty calories a week had piled on. My metabolism was so damaged from the alcoholism that I didn’t lose weight, I gained it. Anyway, after much dieting and lots and lots of exercise (including a 17 mile backpacking trip) I was starting to feel like I was in the shape of my life.
THEN a month ago I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. I’m like of course I’d be the healthiest I’ve been in twenty years and get CANCER. Of course. This is just the pattern of my life. The video game producers of “Malia’s Life” just love seeing me in these compromising positions and find it humorous to see how I’m going to react.
My health has declined rapidly in the last month. The stress of knowing what is going on and feeling helpless is breaking me down. I find myself in this odd dichotomy that once upon a time I was drinking to fill an innermost need to bond…and it did. Now that I don’t have booze as a crutch I’ve been spun into a disease that I am finding out has so much to do with a need to be loved. The fatigue I feel is not a regular tired fatigue. It is an emotional, guttural demand for more nurturing than can be provided by the world combined. It is sobriety boot camp, facing the thing that drove me to drink and more than I’ve felt in my whole life (and this is coming from a woman that drove herself to the hospital to have a baby…alone). My life has been marked by loneliness and self-reliance.
My pregnancy led me on a path where I hit rock bottom. The kind of rock bottom that spiritual awakenings come from. I can see that this trial in my life is forcing me to let people in where I don’t want to. I want to do this on my own, but I can’t. I don’t know where I’ll be at the end of this, but I’d like to write so I don’t forget where I started.
Of course in times like this relapse is a consideration. Just feeling an escape from the knowledge and the unknown. I've often had the thought "Geez, if I could just have one day off". But like I said there is no day, it's a portal....I can't just bust in and out of realities like that unfortunately. The portal closes once I step inside and I'm trapped until something stops time.
So if you're like me dealing with a disease on top of a disease on top of who knows what else just know you're not alone...
Photo by Ken Treloar on Unsplash
A writer living in Portland, OR looking to meet Chuck Palahniuk. Single mom to 2 boys, sales agent and lawyer-in-training.