I go to counseling every day. And this..this counselor calls me her trouble patient. Her unsuccessful one. Her tragedy kid. Is this what she seriously thinks of me? She constantly tells me, ” your life is only good when you think it is” She expect me to be delusional now? She tells me all this crap and then tells my Mother how I am practically a never ending tragedy. Wow.
My thoughts raced as I stepped out of the boring gray building she calls her office. The cold wind stung my eyes and blew my hair away. I sat cross legged on the pavement. Cigarette smoke filled my lungs. I breathed in and remembered. Remembered the start of it. The very beginning of my failing life.
Rory shoved a pack of cigarettes in my face, his royal blue eyes sparkling. “Try one” he said. It wasn’t peer pressure? Could it have been? I tried one out of curiosity. I took to it right away. It started slow. I’d ask for a quantity of maybe 3 every week for a month. Then the next month It was 12 every week. It continued to grow.