The Purge Part 8: The Patch.

This is a post about purging cigarettes.

That's a lie.

Quitting smoking again was easy. I wasn't really smoking that much anyway, at least I never made it back up to the pack-to-pack-and-a-half a day that I indulged in from 13 to 29. At most, I was still only up to about 10 a day, and most days about 5 or less. I've spoken of this before, how on Christmas day I didn't know who to be anymore so I decided to be who I was the day before I met Chase, and the smokes came back too. First it was looseys from the corner store and then whole packs down in Georgia where they run a mere $4.50. Then I did the ungodly and switched brands--from the Camel Lights that I had smoked for 16 years to American Spirit Yellow's. But things have been settling down and settling in; this whole ten part purge exercise has me more astutely differentiating between who is authentically me and who I became for all the wrong reasons; but quitting smoking, as it seems, is one of those things that Chase demanded I do at the top of his lungs that I actually still value. It just so happens that it doesn't suit me anymore.

Knowing that makes me kind of sad.

But this post isn't actually about cigarettes. I guess it's about coming to the point where I'm wrapping up this series and I'm supposed to have one huge moral prepared to tell everyone and I'm still not quite sure what that is. It should be something about...how I'm better! Sometimes I'll be doing something inane like coming up from the train or buying an apple and I'll realize that just a few months ago I was incapable of this activity, that I've been patched back together with therapy and pills and friends and family and the seams are receding; I'm forgetting about the scars these days. But this post I'm writing now isn't the one that was in my fingertips when I woke up at 4:30 this morning and it's not even the one that was in my head at Gallery this afternoon and there are definitely things I'm not saying and I'm struggling. I'm struggling with being authentic.

The cigarettes? Gone. But the secrets?

I'm getting there. Let me paint my toes a few more times.


p.s. -- They're green this week, and it has been a good week.

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