Vices
It’s the middle of the day, and I go outside to smoke a cigarette despite it being almost 100º outside. It's my second one of the day. It's a habit I picked up the day after Roe V. Wade was overturned and my nerves were absolutely, irrevocably shot. I had asked my colleague if she wouldn’t mind if I had one of her cigarettes to numb myself, and haven't really stopped since, allowing myself one a day (on most days). Although it has been four days since my last cigarette (and these are my sins. Catholic kids will know). I’m not proud of this.
On my walk outside, I pass a window which shows my reflection. Have I lost some weight? There’s no way. I’m not sure I’ve ever not looked at myself when passing a reflective surface, whether it’s to admire myself or fully embrace the self-loathing on my bad days.
My colleague and I will go outside in the back of the building for a moment of reprieve in the summer heat. It's there I often wonder why the people across the street still have an autumn wreath hanging on their door. And why I’m still doing this.
Anyway, in this current moment, I can barely finish this one. My brand of choice is American Spirits, the yellow pack, but they don't taste as delicious as when you're having one drunk (my other favorite numbing agent). The Wellbutrin®, vitamins, vegetables, and “hot girl walks” can only do so much to alleviate the omnipresent anxiety. The multiple hours I spend on my phone certainly doesn’t help, that I can admit. But some things are too difficult to give up cold turkey.
I throw out the half-smoked cigarette into a puddle in front me. Where has this puddle come from, I wonder, as it hasn't rained in days. I look at myself again in the reflection of the murky puddle, already littered with other cigarette butts. What am I doing? I ask myself.
And that’s on vulnerability. I know this is a bit different than what you might expect from this newsletter, but I hope you enjoyed some brief ramblings.