The Bloody Doors Off

I’m not talking about alcohol, though I’ve got stories. One day I’ll tell them. There’s one in particular I can never get forgiveness for.

I’m going on almost 3 months without a cigarette. The anniversary is coming up in a week. The liquid cum vapor e-cigarette is helping. There are times I still crave the cancer stick, but so far I haven’t given in. I know if I do, it’ll taste awful and it’ll reinforce the decision of quitting.

It’s odd and funny how easy it turned out to be. To quit, I mean. Just get yourself locked up for a couple of days and not have permission to go off-wing for a smoke, and the body turns against it. I wish other crap was just as easy.

Had a moment this morning again where I considered the freedom of walking away from everything. Pack a bag, empty the bank account (what there is of it), make plans for the cats to be cared for, grab my pills and my passport, and jump on a bus to nowhere. It came with the latest news report of the guy who went out for a run and went missing. I wonder if that’s what he did? Woke up one morning and realized he wasn’t living the life he wanted, and made a choice to change it. But then I realize the futility of my thoughts. I’m in the middle of bankruptcy and this would default it and the hammer would come down. No matter where I ran, it would haunt me. I’d have to live completely off the grid, and I like my internet too much.

There’s also the staged reading coming up. I wouldn’t want to leave before hearing the play read out loud. And that made me feel shallow.

But this isn’t the life I want to be living. I’m rudderless; no full-time income, lack of responsibility, a dearth of purpose. I’ve got avenues I need to explore. Help is out there, somewhere. I hope it’s enough.