The last cigarette

I was 18 when I started smoking. I have admired smoking the majority of my life- the look of a cigarette, how it feels in between my fingers, everything about smoking I love. When i was 3 I tired to pretend I was my cousin who smoked, desperately wanting to look as glamorous as she did. I never smoked in high school because I was afraid of what my mother would say. But when I turned 18 and realized smoking not only looked cool but also helped women lose weight, I was addicted fast. I would smoke everywhere, after working out, at the clubs, in the middle of the night- anywhere that allowed smoking. I was living in Rome when my addiction really got intense. I would go through 2 packs once a week.

I remember the first time my father caught me smoking. I was walking to one of Rome’s Piazza’s to meet my parents for breakfast. I was early, they were earlier. I walked into the Piazza with a lit cigarette in hand. It was then I caught my father’s face go from ecstatic to absolute disgust. I abruptly threw the cigarette to the ground and tried to convince my father it was no big thing. I cried all afternoon- I was so shameful I disappointed my father. It didn’t stop me from smoking, it just made me more cautious of where I smoked.

I am now trying to quit- for health reasons. It’s a habit I absolutely love and I really upset I am quitting- especially at this point in my life when I feel I could always use a cigarette. It’s not that I am addicted, because im not. I don’t get nicotine cravings or go into anxiety if I can’t get a cigarette. As crazy as it sounds, smoking is just the one thing that has always made me happy. It’s a great way to meet new people, it’s a wonderful ice breaker, and it’s a great way to distress. But considering I am scared of lung cancer and looking like Donatella Versace when I turn 40, I am saying good bye to my faithful friends. Sad