47 : Smoke a Cig

I know, I know- mother of the year right here.  To date I've posted get really REALLY drunk (see post #5),  pop pills (see post #13 AND #34) and now I say smoke a cigarette?  What kind of mother am I?  A damn good one, thank you very much.  But I'm still human and I'm not perfect.  This blog is a true account of my hurting and healing process, which unfortunately (for my mom) means it wasn't rainbows and unicorns every day.  As much as I pushed myself to stay positive and focus on the good, I had my moments of weakness.  And when I did, on occasion I sought refuge by way of a cigarette.  Come on, don't judge me- it's not like I was doing meth or snorting lines in the family room (for the record, neither of which I know anything about- seriously!)  But I did find myself every once and a great while, feeling the need for a little taste of something that I knew was not good for me- and for me that was a cigarette.  I immediately felt sick (physically) and disgusted with myself (mentally) after doing so, but I still did it.  I'm wasn't  proud- and I certainly wasn't going to make this a regular habit by any means, but every now and then...when needed...well, you get it.  I'd like to think I had held myself together pretty well so far, if this was my one vice, then so be it.