Relapse Part II

Good news: I was off the stick since June 29, 2012!

Bad news: I relapsed today.

This is the second time that I relapsed. The first one was when I was in college. I was heartbroken and I wanted to be a better person. So, I decided to quit smoking. How? I used flooding technique wherein I intentionally smoked two packs of cigarettes in one night (it was December 17! Lantern parade!) until I couldn't breathe anymore. After that stint, I stopped smoking for six months. The mere sight or smell of cigarette made me want to throw up. For six months, I was clean. My lungs were clean and free of nicotine. I didn't crave for it. I didn't feel any need for it. Then, came thesis. Everything went downhill from there.

From being "sober" for half a year, I relapsed. From the usually two sticks a day, I consumed at least five a day after I picked up the habit again. Before I knew it, I can consume half a pack a day (and that was when I was still in college). After college, I became notorious in smoking. I had the liberty to smoke everywhere, at my own expense. From two sticks a day to five to 10 to 20 to I-can't-even-count-anymore. On the hindsight, I could feel my lungs giving up, but I took no hid. Even when I was diagnosed with Upper Respiratory Tract Infection in October 2011, I didn't drop the bad habit.

It was only in February 2012, the second time URTI hit my system, that I decided to limit my nicotine intake. From the usual I-can't-even-count-anymore, it went down to half a pack a day. Then, I decided that I would only buy cigs every Friday, which led me to 1-2 sticks a day from Monday to Thursday. Slowly, I was detaching myself from nicotine dependence. From time to time (usually during Fridays and Saturdays), I would exceed the 5-stick rule that I imposed on myself. But I was not a notorious smoker as before.

Then, URTI paid me a visit again. This time, hell knew no fury. URTI wanted revenge. I thought I was going to die. But of course I didn't. That was when I decided to totally quit smoking, since it wasn't much of a need to me anymore.

I was off the hook since June 29, 2012 until I decided to take a drag today. I wasn't even stressed. I was, for the most part, curious. I couldn't remember its taste anymore. I couldn't remember how it felt like or how I should do it. Hence, I pulled the string and lit a stick of Black. I took one long drag, then another, then another one only to realize that I can actually live without it.

I am not sure if I should call it a relapse, because I am not planning on smoking again, not tomorrow, not in the near future. But for the sake giving in to "weakness," I would call it as such.

Relapse and back to square one.

The Wasted Youth

It's been more than two years since I stepped outside my comfort zone and embraced the world outside Padre Faura. Two years. Imagine, only two years. And yet, it feels like eons of years had passed. I feel old. I am withering.

Two years ago, I can pull off a triathlon consisting of drinking all night long, taking an exam the next day, and drinking after the exam. Without feeling tired. Without getting sick. Now, I can't even knock down a bottle of beer without feeling tipsy. I sleep at least 8 hours a day, but I always feel tired.

Once I tried to bring back the old times. Convinced that I can still get back the vigor I had for drinking and rock and roll, I spent three consecutive days drinking non-stop. Two days after, my immune system dropped significantly. I got sick. I am wasting away. But this I refuse to accept or to even acknowledge. I am only 22, how can that happen?

Two years ago, I can still manage to get my shit together. Despite the lack of sleep and resources, I can make anything happen. My optimism was beyond me. I believed in myself, in my idealism, in my dreams. At the time, everything was possible. But now, all that's left of me are memories--memories I can never re-create, memories I can never live again. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I try to search the person that I was two years ago. I try to look further: beyond my bloodshot eyes, beyond the blemishes in my skin. I try to find that 20-year old girl who thought she could be anything she wanted, but I cannot. She's gone.

I feel old and tired and sick. I can hear my soul creaking, slowly tearing apart inside this frail human body. I am tired. And I am too young to feel this tired.