I’ve Started Again. I’m a Failure.

One of the first posts I wrote was about how I gave up smoking and how proud I was of myself.

And now…?

And now – two years and one month later, I am ashamed to say that I am back where I started.  Smoking.  

I am a failure.  A big fat failure.  

I didn’t want to write about it, because that would mean admitting it to myself – but I decided I had to do it.

It’s been two weeks since I started.  It was the night of V’s birthday party.  It was just us at home and after too much champagne, I wanted a cigarette.  I had three that night.

The next night I had two.

And it has just continued from there.  

At first I told myself I would only smoke at night – after V had gone to bed.  Then I told myself, ‘Well, it might be day time, but he *is* napping.  Isn’t that the same?’

I have been tempted over the last two years, but I have always managed to stop myself.  I’ve never *actually* gone through with it and smoked.

It is still disgusting to me.  More now that the smell clings to me. 

I have never wanted to be the mum who smokes in front of her child (which I haven’t done).  If you are that mum, I’m not judging you – I’m just saying that I don’t want to do it.  I brush my teeth after each cigarette.  I wash my hands with soap and then I use hand sanitiser.  But I know it’s not enough.  I don’t want V to get used to smelling it on me, or to eventually associate the smell with me.

At night I tell myself, ‘Right – that’s it.  No more.  That was my last one.’  And then I’ll add, ‘But I’ll just have one more in the morning.’  I find myself making deals with myself.

I don’t want to be a smoker.  But I don’t know how to stop.