I’m quitting smoking. I did that once before but you started happily supplying me with cigarettes 9 months later. Seems pretty dark with everything I know now.
She said she’d help me like she offered months ago. I’m glad, I gave the opportunity I had to you then. To try anything to help your pain.
Filling in the form brought it all back. How do I write, under reasons I want to quit, every smoke reminds me of your betrayal. How do I write under what holds you back from quitting? That I want to suffer the way you did, self flagellation for missing the signs, for allowing you to get into that state, for allowing you to die.
The hardest question was though, what is your happy place? I remember when she asked you that one you described the beach in the Dominican Republic, lying in the warm shade, with the sea breeze, drinking cocktails with me. I told you that was mine too. It’s not happy now though, just wrought with pain that it could have gone so wrong, that it wasn’t what I thought it was anyway. I guess I can hold onto that you didn’t seem to log on once while we were on that holiday.
I don’t have a happy place now, all the wonderful things were you. I’m sure they would have been good without you but not great. That realisation floored me.
I know the hypnotherapy didn’t work for you but I’m desperate for it to work for me. It worked for him, not a single smoke since his session, no relapses. It would be great to call myself a non-smoker. To be free of just one affliction.
Tomorrow is my last counselling session for now. I’m to take in something to share with her. I’ve been thinking about that cream jumper of yours for weeks. How it felt to be held by you when you wore it, how it felt to steal it and wear it myself when you weren’t looking. I think I’ll dig it out.
I’m not sure if I hate or love you this week but I definitely miss the you I knew more than you could imagine. I just want to call you, I try sometimes but your phone has been cut off. It just beeps when I dial now. An abrupt and final answer.