It was a gloomy morning. I somehow woke myself up and made my way to the bathroom. On my to the bathroom, my hand mechanically slipped into my pocket and came out with a cylinder. I could barely feel the heat. And then I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, hair in a frenzy, face all lost, but worst of all a lit cigarette in my hand. I was smoking my way to someone I really detested from someone I was proud of. But, that proud self seemed to be a mere shadow of what I was looking at in the mirror.
That was when a string of words went ringing through my ears: What have I done to myself? The realisation was too strong for me and all of a sudden I just threw the smoke in my hand right out of the window without thinking twice. Somehow I started to fear smoke. I just didn’t like what I saw in the mirror that gloomy morning.
Why I started smoking is something I don’t want to talk about. It was to prove a point. And needless to say, that the point got proved rather well. It was supposed to be a regulated affair with everything in control, including my smoking. It stayed that way for a couple of months. Things weren’t all bad. But the first sign of my downfall was my lack of interest in almost anything. Movies, music, parties, studies, games and even food. It was slowly going from bad to worse. I lost my appetite, started scoring poorer grades, was a disaster for my football team in college. My outings reduced to going to a cigarette shop to buy cigarettes. Without realising I had started puffing two to three packs in a day.
My friends could see what I was getting into. They tried their best. But, the urge was too much. I hadn’t told my parents about all this and now I was even lying to my friends to cover up for my continued addiction. Somehow they knew, but never said anything. All I could see was a feeling of worry in their eyes. I was slowly losing them. It was sad that I ever had to pick up the habit at all. Within a year I was smoking nearly fifty cigarettes a day and I had become a mere shadow of myself.That was when the realisation struck me. That was when I realised what I had done. That fateful day I swore that I would bring a change.
It has been six months since that morning. I haven’t quit entirely yet. But I have reduced it to just two in a day. Things seem much better now. My friends were a great support. Just when I thought I had lost them, they found me and pulled me out of what I would call a pit of doom.
Not for one moment am I saying that smoking is bad or good. This was my experience and all I have to say is that I couldn’t handle the whole affair well. Now that all that is in the past and things right now are looking a lot better. I have gained some interest in most of the things which used to surround me earlier. But, I am still apprehensive…I hope one day that I will get back to what I used to be, and hopefully I will quit completely.