Harsh mistress

Lady Nicotiana has me in her grip again. Obsessive thoughts after three weeks of no trouble and barely any struggle. Why was it so easy to bum one after the hell I put us through three weeks ago? The headaches and anxiety and everything more stressful than it needed to be? This harsh mistress makes life so much harder and yet... and yet here I am again, with the stick of leaf so fragrant filling my lungs with smoke. The same smoke I have come to despise the smell of on others. I was supposed to call you if I decided I wanted one, and I did call before I bummed one, but you were busy and I didn't bring it up, we chatted as you drove, but I didn't bring it up. I was supposed to get you to tell me why not, and instead you told me that when I wasn't sure whether it was a good day or not to default to assume that I'm doing better than I could possibly imagine. And then we hung up and I bummed one. I was supposed to turn to my notebook to write, which is what I'd been doing before I called you, but all I could write about was how three weeks ago I had nearly destroyed us as the harsh mistress tried to keep me in her grip. I wrote about how my faith and trust in myself had worn so thin as to be nearly gone entirely. I knew what was coming, I wrote about how I'd resigned myself to the idea of smoking today, and how I had to re-establish my self trust or I'd never get anywhere and yet, I have done the thing I said I would not do. Again. How will I ever become anything I esteem if I can not even keep going after three weeks without one misstep for ten more minutes until it passed? And now I can taste her on my breath, the Lady has me again, and I must begin again. I am afraid I'll destroy us again again again. I'm afraid I've already begun. I was supposed to drink water, and I did. I was supposed to get exercise, and I am sore in muscle and bone from the effort. I've done all the things I was supposed to do except tell you that I was in danger of letting myself and you and everyone else down. Again.