I remember sitting underneath an oak tree at my first real job. My coworker offered me a hit off of her cigarette, a Marlboro Menthol. That hit gave me this high that sent me into an abusive relationship I wouldn’t be able to shake for six years.

Since I was 16-years-old, I have had a love-hate relationship with cigarettes.

My mother would find my cigarettes and throw them out, but I would go buy another pack.

I did many things for cigarettes.

I would choose to stand in the cold rather than be with my friends. I was always paranoid that I smelled like smoke, causing me to carry around perfume like it was a lifeline. I would have to cut back on groceries just to make sure I would have $5 left to buy a pack.

I decided the day before 2016 ended that I was going to quit.

It wasn’t because some commercial did me in or someone finally convinced me. It was my best friend telling me that the doctor found a mass on her dad’s lung — her dad, a former smoker.

That’s all it takes, I guess, is for something to hit close to home for one to realize that an unhealthy habit is bad and should be quit. 

I was told by loved ones that they were ashamed of me. I was told that smoking didn’t make me look cool. I was told that it was unhealthy, and I understood. I was told by my significant other that his family thought it was nasty that he was dating a smoker. But I didn’t care about any of it. Why?

Because I found joy in my relationship I had with the rolled-up tobacco. This tobacco that only existed to cause me three minutes of pleasure but a life-long amount of harm.

As for all the current smokers, I hope you find your something that hits close to home before it is too late.