Smoking

Sometimes I wonder, when did I start buying my own smokes? Where did the money come from?
Sometimes, I think back to when it all started. Fresh out of high school and an unfortunate end of a relationship. I admit, I started smoking at parties after graduation. But was my reason because of the break up or was I just trying to be cool?
Since when did I decide that I'll smoke at parties only to find myself craving for one when the party invites got boring. Since when did I get up in the morning, only to find myself needing a smoke to start my day? Since when did my lungs start to fail me at times, and even the smallest walk could zap the air out of me?
When did I learn the different affects of different smokes? When did I choose to smoke the one that I thought suited me best?
In the mornings, I ask myself, do I really need this smoke right now? Do I need this smoke to start my day? Do I need this smoke to end a big feast?

I admit that when I don't have one, my mood is off. I'm quiet and little things do frustrate me and feel like nothing is working out. I don't itch for one. When I feel like it's been a long time, I know I can resist to have one. But I've seen the effects it's done on me. I'm much more skinny, despite how much I eat in a day. I'm more tired and wanting to sleep all the time. My throat is always dry and I drink so much liquid, it's never enough. I always feel drained of energy and my throat always starts to hurt if I go over my limit.

I've thought about quitting but it never works out. Somehow, something happens within the day that catches me off guard and I need one to calm down. When I reach a level of stress, I need one. I wonder what I did before I started smoking? How did I handle stress? How did I go on about my day without one? I've forgotten all that and I wish I knew. Because now, I feel like I'm a lost person. I don't know where I stand in life and half the time, I don't know what I'm doing. I remember how much I hated people who smoked. I hated the sound of the croaky coughs my mum had every morning. I hated the smell of it. I hated the looks of it and I hated seeing what it was doing to my mum. I remember I swore to never smoke. I promised myself that and along the way somewhere, I broke that promise. And it's not that my family disapproves. It's like everyone can tell that it was bound to happen and that it's become a family thing.

When did I become so miserable to start smoking?