When nothing makes sense anymore
So, I think I'm broken.
I've been trying to "quit smoking" for about a month now -- something about not wanting to eventually get cancer/have a heart attack and die, with the short-term benefits of not being forced asking my parents for money for smokes and being able to walk up three flights of stairs without dying.
It's been off again/on again since early December -- but I've gone a couple days without a cigarette, once again. Nicotine withdrawal really isn't too hard. The hard part is that I'm going insane. It's hard to make a cup of tea, let alone do really hard, really abstract mathematics.
I don't know what the point of life is. I wouldn't be happy if I had infinite money such that I could smoke until I die. But I don't know if I'd be happy to stop putting crap in my body. People have different interests, different vices, different habits, rituals, etc.
Mine is smoking crap. It makes me feel real. But I'm tired of the constant psychic struggle of smoking cigarette after cigarette, of needing and craving. So what is left in the aftermath?
I suppose I'm real, but I feel like I'm broken.
I'm a very child-like adult.
I've been trying to "quit smoking" for about a month now -- something about not wanting to eventually get cancer/have a heart attack and die, with the short-term benefits of not being forced asking my parents for money for smokes and being able to walk up three flights of stairs without dying.
It's been off again/on again since early December -- but I've gone a couple days without a cigarette, once again. Nicotine withdrawal really isn't too hard. The hard part is that I'm going insane. It's hard to make a cup of tea, let alone do really hard, really abstract mathematics.
I don't know what the point of life is. I wouldn't be happy if I had infinite money such that I could smoke until I die. But I don't know if I'd be happy to stop putting crap in my body. People have different interests, different vices, different habits, rituals, etc.
Mine is smoking crap. It makes me feel real. But I'm tired of the constant psychic struggle of smoking cigarette after cigarette, of needing and craving. So what is left in the aftermath?
I suppose I'm real, but I feel like I'm broken.
I'm a very child-like adult.