I cut it off with the love of my life two weeks ago.
It just wasn’t working out, man. I had to cut my losses and throw the deuce to that relationship. Sure, I’ve cut him out a few other times and then let him back in, but this time, this time it is for good.
To truly understand my hardship, you have to know the beginning. We met when I was the tender age of 13, so young and impressionable. My friends had been hanging around him. They kept swearing he was just the coolest and that I just had to be down with him. I started hanging out with him when he was with my friends, but I always disapproved. Until, one day, I started thinking that maybe my friends were right – maybe he is a good guy. Within weeks, I gently pulled him to my lips. Oh the embarrassment! I didn’t really know what to do. I gagged, but after a while I got the hang of it.
At first our relationship was easy. I felt so alive with him! A part of me felt a little rebellious too. I did not tell my parents I was hanging out with him because I knew they would question and criticize my actions.
As I got older, though, I started wondering if I could really achieve my lifetime goals with him by my side. He starting wearing me down, draining my pocket book and my new group of friends hated when I was around him. They told me they could even smell when he had been around me. So, I called it off.
The first few nights I was shaking, sweating and feeling as if the world was about to implode around me. I wasn’t going to make it. I felt vulnerable and questioned why I broke it off. Was this a good thing? Maybe I can make this work – Jesus.
But, time heals all wounds. I got over the bitterness. I confronted the anger about the time and money I had wasted on him and moved on. I could breathe again. I was free.
However, as I got older, I began to seek him out again. First, on weekends with people I didn’t know. And usually at bars after I had partaken in several cocktails. He looked good, so good. I started giving him the eye. My friends who knew my past told me to be smart. “You don’t want to get addicted to him again,” they said. They were right, I knew it, but how could hanging out with him be so wrong?
Eventually, I broke down. I went up to some people and asked if I could borrow (without the intention of returning) him. They said sure. We had such good times together, and they all came rushing back when I pushed him against my lips.
The cycle repeated. The euphoric highs, the dizzying lows. I started to resent him again. I remembered why I cut it off in the first place. I didn’t want to waste my life like this. He was killing me! How could I have changed so much and he have stayed exactly the same? I wanted to break him in half and throw him away.
So I ended it. Again.
People refer to him as a lot of things. Europeans call him a fag, but whatever, I love him. Call him what you will – ciggie (ew), dugan, cancer stick or sweet death pole.
Two weeks ago, I quit smoking.
My relationship with cigarettes has been a hell of a lot longer than any other relationship I have ever had, and the only way to dramatically convey my emotions about it is to talk about cigarettes as a significant other of mine. Plus it’s slightly amusing. Sometimes I like to say he is an abusive ex. Things are good, and then he goes for the teeth.
He has been in my life in a lot of different ways: masculine Marlboro Reds, casual Camel Lights, Blow-Pop-stick lame Capri Menthol 120’s and princess Virginia Slim Ultra Light Menthols. But even with the transformations he has made, I have realized that he was still hurting me a lot more than helping me.
Let’s hope it’s for good this time.
Don’t bum me one if I ask.
Even if begging is involved.
Seriously.
Thank you.
 
Laura is a communications studies senior. Contact her at [email protected]