I vape like a dragon, smoke curling from the left side of my mouth or spouting from my nostrils — always tinged with the barest scent or flavor of vanilla. I am aware that this sounds a bit absurd and slightly immature; but, bear with me.
The First Habit to Go Left Me Seeing Hell-Hounds in the Closet
Seven years ago, after my last — and most serious suicide attempt — I gave up my prescriptions for opioids and benzos. Prescriptions that I’d been on for pain and anxiety for the better part of ten years. My doctors advised against it — and the withdrawals were more than a bitch and a half (chills, nausea, maggots crawling beneath my skin, hallucinations that included hell-hounds in the closets and blood running down the walls) — but I just stopped taking them, cold turkey; and, I have never looked back. I even refused a prescription for pain killers after an excruciating large cyst removal on my lower back a couple years ago. I don’t do that shit anymore, not for any reason. Even taking them as prescribed, those drugs fucked up my life (and were partly responsible for claiming my brother’s). I am definitely better off without them.
If You Drink With Me Long Enough, We’re Gon’na Brawl
A year after that, I pulled myself out of a four-year bender and gave up the booze — again. I won’t lie and say I don’t miss it. I do. I love the way a glass of whiskey warms my insides and soothes the frenetic furballs that run and run and run on the hamster wheels in my head. I enjoy feeling more at ease in my own skin, and the effortless way laughter seems to bubble up in the wake of a few shots. I long for the sweet surrender of a Piña Colada and the coconut-scented conversations that follow. I’m an entertaining, humorous drinker (ask anyone)… until I’m not.
Sadly, that’s a family trait. We’re congenial drinkers but nasty f*cking drunks; and, we have a really hard time putting down the sauce once we start slurping it down. If I pass the point of no return (which I always do) and flip that switch, there’s a whole lot of rage that gets unleashed — completely unfiltered. I once broke a guy’s nose with a pool cue because he grabbed my ass after buying me a drink. (I didn’t get arrested because the bartender was a friend and immediately had me whisked away by a biker buddy.) I seek out fights when I’m drunk and I make terrible decisions.
Once, in my early twenties, I was driving home (highly inebriated) from a local saloon and a cop tried to pull me over. I panicked, ran a few red lights, jumped the median on a busy city street, parked Michael’s truck in the first lot I could find, abandoned it, and ran home. When I got back to the apartment we were sharing and he asked what the hell had happened, I couldn’t tell him where I’d left the vehicle because I honestly didn’t know. (Can you believe the man married me anyway? 😂)
So… more than seven years sober from narcotics and benzos. More than six years sober from alcohol.
When Your World Comes Crashing Down, You Compromise
I am also living a life of not-my-choice chastity. Thirteen years ago my husband announced that he was asexual. This was not a decision he made lightly; but, it was also not something he consulted me about nor was it how he entered our marriage.
For a while it didn’t bother me; and then, it did.
We had terrible, awful, horrible fights about it. In anger, we shouted nasty things at each other and a divide began to grow between us that we just couldn’t bridge.
I started having an emotional affair with an online friend who was in a similar situation with his wife. Eventually we started sexting and having phone sex. This went on for several years. When he stated that he had made plans to travel from Indiana to Arizona to visit me, I panicked and ended all communication between us.
Shortly thereafter a friend of mine from high school passed away. His funeral was in El Paso and I attended it by myself. It was nice to see folks from the Midwest (I have never felt at home here in the Southwest) — we were all originally from Nebraska — and to reminisce about old times; but, booze, grief, loneliness, and a downward spiraling sense of self-worth are a dangerous combination. I made a poor decision and had a one-night stand with an old friend.
I immediately confessed to my husband upon my return; and, it devastated him. We fought and fought and fought; and, eventually, I kicked him out.
My drinking and drug use got worse. My promiscuity grew more intense. I was on a high speed chase towards self-destruction.
When I decided to get clean my husband — beyond all rational explanations — was there for me. For a while we tried an open-relationship kind of marriage but it didn’t work. Other men didn’t understand why my husband would be willing to share me nor why I wasn’t willing to leave him. My heart was never in the other relationships; so, they always felt empty. What I really wanted (what I still want) was a sexually intimate relationship with my husband… something he just wasn’t willing to give.
Now, I’m going on the better part of another decade without any sexual contact of any kind. I take medication to suppress my sex drive (in an attempt to lessen the fights between us about it). From time to time I still plead with my husband to try and understand — and meet — my needs; and he, in turn, asks me to see things from his perspective.
I’m a Borderline; so, hypersexuality is a part of my disorder. It is incredibly difficult for me to live the life that I lead; but, Michael is the love of my life. He’s my best friend, my most trusted confidant, my truest supporter, and the one person I want to see at the end of every day. Marriage is a game of give-and-take compromise for everyone; but our marriage is incredibly complicated and sometimes devastating to my sense of self. We really have to work at it (and have been for more than twenty years).
Puff, Puff, I Ain’t Givin’ It Up!
I’ve been a smoker since I was seventeen. I started — oh, so goth cliché like — with Cloves. Then I moved on to Marlboro Gold 100s. I gave them up when I was pregnant, but lit up the moment I left the maternity ward. Desperate to be a good mother I abandoned the habit again when my son was three; but, in the midst of his teenage angst and rebellion I took it up again… and haven’t been able to quit since.
My husband hates the smell of cigarette smoke; so, when vaping arrived we found a solution to the problem (though he’s still not thrilled with the fact that I puff all day like a magic dragon). Last month I was able to quit for two consecutive weeks; but then, I just couldn’t.
Vaping (i.e. nicotine) is the last solitary comfort I have that makes me feel like me. I know it’s unhealthy. I know that I feel a bit better (physically, not mentally) without it; but, it’s not enough for me to give it up. Not yet.
I’ve given up narcotics, benzos, booze, sex, suicide attempts, and acting like a tantrum-throwing toddler who doesn’t have to accept the consequences of her own actions. I will not give up my mod. I can’t. I just can’t.
Motion Masquerade 
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