Every Sunday I write about my addiction. Smoking. My struggle with it. Through writing about it, I hope to figure myself out. The reasons why I do it and why I can't kick it. This week's post is a continuation from last Sunday. If you haven't read last Sunday's post and want to, do so here. For the entire Confession, from the beginning, click here.
It was now 1994 and I still hadn't recovered from losing my friends in the 1992 car accident. I felt like I was waiting for the next tragedy because the weegee board had told us that someone else would die, and for some reason, I really believed this to be true. If only I knew what I know now: you attract what you fear. Every time I went out and partied, I would wake up in the morning feeling relieved, if the phone hadn't rung in the middle of the night.
I had just moved to Medicine Hat to attend art college. It was a happy time for me. A new start on life. I was finally starting to really recover from the accident and I was excited about art school and about making new friends. I'd only been gone a few weeks but I missed my friends in Creston, so I came home for the weekend to visit the the group.
We all went out that night to a house party. It was getting late, so me and some of the girls decided to leave. Just as we were leaving, I saw another friend trying to get into his car to drive. I could see that he was way too drunk to drive so I tried to stop him. I told him he shouldn't drive. I reminded him of what had happened two years earlier. I fought with him for a good five minutes over whether or not he should drive. At one point, I got the keys away from him and told him I was going to take them with me so that he couldn't drive. He was being stubborn, as usual... he wrestled me and got the keys back. He then promised me that he wouldn't drive. He mentioned someone else from the group that was still inside, and he promised me that he'd run back in and ask him to drive instead. I believed him. Me and my girlfriends headed to Subway to grab a midnight snack.
We had just gotten our subs, and as we sat down to eat them, our friend Alison burst in the front door of the restaurant and screamed out that there had been an accident. She didn't know who was driving, or who was in the car... but she knew who's car it was and someone had been taken away in a body bag. That's all she knew. The look on her face is still etched in my mind. I instantly felt like I was going to vomit, and no, I wasn't drunk. We all ran outside and hopped in the car to head to the hospital. The feeling was all too familiar. Didn't we just do this two years ago?
As we drove to the hospital, I started to imagine who might be dead, and what it would mean... I dropped my sub on the floor of the car (sorry Melody!). The lettuce was everywhere. The tomato juices and mayonaise were soaking into the carpet. No one said a word on the way to the hospital or at least that's how I remember it. I stared at the lettuce and mayo on the floor, and told myself over and over that it wouldn't be my drunk friend who was driving, because he had promised me he wouldn't. It had to be someone else. Oh please god... tell me it was someone else or I'm going to feel like this is my fault.
When we arrived at the hospital, most of the group was already there. All I could hear was screaming, and yelling, and crying. The poor nurses were frantically trying to calm everyone down but seriously, the emergency room was a gong show. They informed us that only one had died. Tyler. He was another close friend. And yes, the driver was drunk. And yes, it was the driver who I had tried to stop! How could this be happening to me?
As soon as I knew what had happened, it was like the guilt instantly penetrated every inch of my body. It was overwhelming. My heart hurt. My brain wouldn't shut off. I couldn't stop crying. Why did I let this happen? Tyler was dead because of me and the driver (who had been my friend since grade six) was going to jail, because of me. It was all my fault.
The police phoned me months later and questioned me about that night. They had heard through the grapevine that I had tried taking the keys. They wanted me to testify against the driver but I said no. I couldn't go against one of my friends even though I knew he was in the wrong. And besides, it was my fault, not his. I remember the officer on the phone, telling me that it wasn't my fault and that the driver had made his own choice that night. But the officer couldn't change my mind. For some reason I chose to carry the guilt. For years.
When I had moved to Medicine Hat, I had made a decision that I'd stop smoking. A new start. New friends. Less of a temptation. But, after having this accident happen a few short weeks later later, quitting was no longer in the radar....
I was smoking more than ever. I remember making a conscious effort that if I thought of Tyler, or the guilt of losing him (and feeling like it was my fault), I'd go outside and have a cigarette to take my mind off it. It was a stupid idea (I realize now) but it was my coping mechanism at the time and it seemed to work. I used smoking as my escape. If the guilt rushed in, I'd have a smoke. I'd focus on blowing smoke rings...
or I'd focus on getting the ash as long as I could before it would finally fall off. Or I'd see how quickly I could smoke one, or how slowly. Anything to keep my mind occupied. Ya I know, it sounds ridiculous, but that's seriously what I did. And it seemed to work. That little smoking trick seemed to transfer to other areas in my life. If the stress of school got to me, I'd go for a smoke. If the stress of work got to me, I'd go for a smoke. It had become my crutch. My escape from stress. And smoking was now a good friend to me.
I don't remember exactly when it happened, but I eventually let go of the guilt from the accident and realized that it wasn't my fault. I still (today) wish I could turn back time, because I would have done things differently, but, I still know it wasn't my fault.
When I finally realized that it wasn't my fault and I let go of the guilt, did I let go of smoking? And if so, how in the world did I do it?
See you next Sunday.
