Stream of Consciousness. . . a little therapy

Stream of consciousness. Ever do that? Ever just sit and write and write and write and let whatever comes up come out? Don't give it any thought - not even one - just write and write and write and see where it takes you. I've done this a time or two and I'm always amazed at where I end up - what I find out - discover about myself. So I thought I'd give it a go again today. Just to see. Forgive any typos, I'm not proofing or spell checking, I'm just writing. I'm supposed to quit smoking. Don't want to, but have to. I can't afford the damn things anymore - $50 a carton. That's insane! When I started smoking at the ripe old age of 15, they were .45 per pack or $4.50 per carton. And now? $50 per carton plus some change depending on where you buy them. Damn! I hate that they cost so much cause I really do like to smoke. But I have to quit. I just do. So I started taking Chantix last weekend. Told myself that I'd go 10 days on the medication and then stop smoking. Well that 10th day is almost here and I no more want to quit then I did the day I started the medication. This medication makes the cigarettes taste absolutely horrible. That coupled with the cost and the way they make me feel (like shit!) should be enough motivation to get me to stop. Shouldn't it? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why would I want to stink like a big old ashtray all the time, be a social outcast, spend all my hard earned money buying cigarettes - not to mention whatever these lil chemical sticks are doing to my insides. Why? Why the hell would I want that? Because I'm a fucked up addict, that's why! I am addicted to being addicted. Yep, that's it. I said it. I wrote it. It's the fucking truth!!! Anything that I can take to an extreme that's bad for me in some way - well, that's exactly what I think I want. I just have to have it!!! I have obsessive thoughts about smoking and eating fattening foods and taking pills and gambling and those thoughts lead to compulsive behaviors. I go and go and go and go until I burn myself out. I run myself into the ground. I take any good in my life and flush it right in the toilet - all because the addict in me can't stop chasing or feeding the addiction in me. This sucks. I don't want this life. I want some other life. I want your life or your life or your life or yours. Any life but mine! It's unmanagable. It's not fun. It hurts. There's a lot of pain. But I have nothing to be in pain about. I've had a fairly good life as lives go. I can't complain - not really. Yeah, my family was dysfunctional - but whose isn't, right? I mean I wasn't beaten or sexually abused or starving or homeless. My folks did the best they could by me, so why am I this ungrateful fuck who thinks my life is so bad that I need to be someone else? What the hell kind of sense does that make? None! Grandma Karnes once told me that I had nothing to cry about. We were on our way to a funeral and I was in the backseat crying because my Auntie Pearl had just died. Bitch looked and me and said, "stop crying, you have nothing to cry about". Wow! What the hell? I was fucking 12! 12!!!!!!! Why wouldn't a 12 year old kid cry when someone they loved more than life itself died? And yet dear old grannie Karnes saw fit to tell me that I had nothing to cry about. Somehow that stuck with me. Now I'm 51 and I have lived most of my life believeing her words. . . I have nothing to cry about. So I drown my pain is shit that's bad for me. Cover it up. Pretend it doesn't exist. Don't cry. Never, ever cry. I have no right. Nothing to feel sad about. Right? So I smoke and gamble and eat and take medications that fuck up my head. . . all to keep from crying. Wear a mask. Never let em see how you really feel - who you really are - cause they'll only be critical and I can't handle critical. Ok, so it's Saturday and it's beautiful and the sun is out and the air is warm. I'm going to Lawrence to have lunch with an old friend. Had to take three pills when I got up just to face seeing her. I have to "be" a certain way in order to get through the day becuase I'm sure my good isn't good enough so I have to put on my mask and be someone else. Someone she will like better. And the laundry is almost done. I can hear the dryer buzzer telling me to get off my ass and get the clothes out of the dryer. So I better go. Better go be Betty Homemaker and make my husband happy. I wonder if Betty is made that people have come to know her as Homemaker. Or is it Suzy? Yeah, maybe it's Suzy that's the homemaker and maybe she's mad about that. But! I'm sure my grandmother - if she were alive to tell it to her face - that she needs to get over it. She - like I - has nothing to be mad about!