You think you are making a choice every time you reach for a new pack. But the choice was made long ago. What is happening now is only repetition.
This is like a relationship that stopped bringing joy a long time ago, yet you stay in it because you cannot remember what it felt like to be without it. You pay for the ability to feel normal. Though once, this used to bring pleasure. Now it only brings a temporary return to square one.
One piece a day turns into five. Five becomes ten. You do not notice how the dose grows, but you do notice how your wallet shrinks. Over a year, the sum adds up to enough for a trip. For a good gadget. For dozens of books. For anything except the slow destruction of yourself.
Your body does not send alarm signals for no reason. The morning cough is not "clearing out." It is a cry. Being out of breath on the second floor is not "being out of shape." It is a warning. Pale skin and dark circles are not "fatigue." They are a picture you paint yourself, day after day.
The most insidious thing about this process is its speed. Nothing happens instantly. The changes accumulate like sand in your pockets. At first, you do not notice the extra weight. Then you get used to it. And then you no longer remember what it felt like to move freely.
Right now, you have a privilege you do not notice. It is the privilege to stop before it is too late. The body knows how to heal if given a chance. Within a few days without the poisonous ritual, tastes become brighter. Within a week, your breath opens deeper. Within a month, you begin to recognize your former self β the one who did not depend on a glass stick with a burning end.
The question is not whether you can quit. The question is how much more of what matters you are willing to give up for something that never belonged to you.