Smoking cured heart disease?

Primitive man (and woman) loved fire. Fire offered protection, fire unlocked nutrients, enable their brains to grow, intellect to become as massive as it is. I have a theory. Maybe that’s why we find comfort in smoking.

Comfort. A strange word to use with smoking. But whenever I smoke, I have a sense of comfort deeper than the Mariana Trench, spreading it roots deep into my dark and miserable heart of lamentations. It’s somehow able to comfort me even without the nicotine high. Or am I just on a nicotine high?

Dear reader I come to you today from my notes app. The nurses took my SIM card. I have a couple scheduled posts, hopefully enough to buy me time to get medicated. You see I spent over a thousand dollars over the last few days, on things my delusions wanted, and my current medication couldn’t stop. I was just wondering if instead of buying that second hand laptop and second hand phone, I should have just poured all that money into my smokes.

I can’t stop anymore. The smoke has enveloped and swallowed me like the mythical giant anaconda of the Amazon.

I pick this article up on the new second hand phone my delusions purchased for me. And I just had a smoke just before. I thought I would be much more inspired with a brand new second hand phone. But all I feel is malaise. Boredom. Lack of desire to do anything. Why? Why am I uninspired here?

Compartmentalisation. That’s the word. Previously I had two phones, one for pleasure and one for business. That way I could compartmentalise the stuff I don’t like, the yucky stuff in a yucky phone. Unfortunately I can’t afford to do that anymore, hence this giant new phone. Giant screen, one that won’t fit into my palm very easily. It’s a beautiful phone though, really pretty.

I will somehow compartmentalise on this too. I’ll put all the yucky stuff into a separate folder, entire separate web browser: Microsoft edge.

This reminds me of when L tried to compartmentalise my suicidal ideation. I didn’t like that at all, feeling abandoned. But we’re both only human, and we need compartmentalisation to get through the shitty lives we have to endure, or at least the shitty part of a beautiful existence we’re privileged to endure. But we can only enjoy the beauty if we put the ugliness into a different compartment, different section of our mind, the yucky stuff away from the beauty and wonder of human existence. I didn’t let L compartmentalise my worst existence. That in the end severed the friendship.

Back to smoking. Craving. I’m finally getting those dreaded cigarette cravings. When all you want is one more cigarette. Is it that or is it boredom? Why do I want to smoke so badly?

I read on Wikipedia that indigenous people use smoking as a ritual, a purification, a medicine. I do wonder if this is true or was out there by big tobacco to lure people like me into smoking. People who respect indigenous belief. But I have to say, I do feel like the cigarette purified me: I do feel cleansed after a smoke. Maybe I’m addicted to feeling clean, feeling healthy.