My parents have both never even TASTED alcohol once or smoked or done anything like that. They both waited for marriage for sex. They’re yes, practically saints according to a lot of people’s definition of sainthood.
When I was at Remuda, I would smoke with my friends who smoked. We would sneak out and smoke sometimes. I never felt addicted and never felt like I needed a cigarette for any reason. It was purely for social reasons and because we were so controlled down to not even being able to flush our own toilets, it was fun to break the rules sometimes.
Since I’ve been home these past five months, I’ve smoked three times. I had a pack in my purse that I had forgotten about and meant to get rid of it forever ago. I just forgot. WELL. My 14 year old brother decided to go through my purse for some reason while I was on a walk and he found my cigarettes. Apparently I scarred him. Not like almost dying and being hospitalized for months wasn’t scarring enough.
When I got home, boy was I in trouble. My dad went off on me, though I will say he actually didn’t full out yell at me so I suppose it could have been worse. My mom is incredibly angry with me as well. What I got from their rebuke was that I’m STUPID because only stupid people smoke, I can’t live under their roof if I’m going to be doing any addictive behavior like smoking, and well…I’m crap. I’ve ruined everyone’s lives. And apparently the cigarette business made it THAT much worse.
Could I feel worse about myself? Now I just feel like crap. ON TOP OF THAT, we had a family therapy session yesterday and I’m pretty sure the room was flooded with my tears. Nothing good seems to of come from it. I feel misunderstood by my mom. I wonder, what’s the point in even trying to express how I feel when my mom takes it the wrong way?
I feel worthless. I feel despicable. Who knew cigarettes could cause such havoc?