It’s absurdly ridiculous.
Many won’t understand.
Nothing tragic has happened, no loved one has died, all my limbs are still firmly attached.
Nonetheless. I am missing part of who I was.
I quit smoking!
Smoking was/ is more than just an action.
It is/ was more than an addiction.
I was A SMOKER.
Not just someone who smoked- a smoker.
And now… I’m just… Not.
And yes, I am happy and proud of myself, the air never tasted so sweet and my bank balance has never been so healthy and fat.
But what I’ve gained in lung capacity, I feel like I’ve lost in personality.
There are lots of things we all do that become us.
- A writer.
- A reader.
- A mother/ father
- A husband/ wife.
Our actions define us and something that should be as inconsequential as quitting smoking has forever changed my identity.
I’m still learning how to write without the cancer sticks.
Learning who I am outside the cloud of smoke.
Am I just being stupid? Has anyone else ever felt this way?