Quiet celebration of an unsung hero.

 Here I'm again. Not perfect but present, not everything yet, but eternally grateful. 

This is a big day - after 22 years of nicotine addiction, I'm here saying this is my 10th and longest duration post-quitting. 10 days is not long. No, you may not understand what this stands for, but this has been the toughest thing I've done. Ever. 

Patches, gum, lozenges, hypnosis later, all of which helped in their own ways, IFS is really what got me through the ring of fire - the first 5 days of quitting. When my body revolted, and every cell screamed in agony until stars exploded at the edge of the universe. There is nothing that feels good about quitting - Not on day1, day2 or day5. I fear not until a very long time, because my brain and body were upended by newly calibrated dopaminergic, serotonergic and cholinergic systems - Basically, I was running on artificially amplified focus, attention, and love all of which have come crashing down on me. 

The promise I made to myself as I came home to India was to stay. Stay with myself, no matter what. A promise easier whispered than kept. In the pain of violent cellular disclosure, I stayed. I watched. I invited the grief and pain and simply watched, and understood how awareness is what finally helped me get through a moment I would otherwise not. 

I promised myself I would write - Not well, beautifully or perfectly, but I deserve this ode to victory to myself - to reclaim my lungs, for having suffered in silence and pain for the last two decades, trying to cope with loss and grief the best I could. In escapes my poor heart and lungs took a toll with. 

I'm not over it all yet, but the cravings are more manageable. I have started to run. 

My first 5K this Saturday will be my celebration lap - for my lungs that toiled tirelessly, for my heart that beat despite my inadvertent torture to it. 

I'm learning to breathe again. And I don't intend to look back. I'm grateful to myself and my body. I'm so grateful for life, for being a messy human and for being able to heal. For my cells that have survived millions of years from evolution - forged in the crucibles of stars to converge precisely into me.

Thank you.

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Breathing into the setting sun

 Dear X,  Today I miss you, but I ignore the whispers of melancholy tugging my sleeve. I remember your presence, like it's a soft breeze grazing my thighs. I remember your grounding force, culling my anxiety. Perhaps I'm still clinging to the idea of you, I don't know, but I have become more open to men, to the world in these past days. You'd have been proud. This year has been one of losses for you and for me. But also one of homecoming, of deeper sensibilities, of touching the quantum realms we created.  I don't know where you are, but this force today beckons me to your breath; You touched the scientist, the seer, and the poet at once. You touched my raw, frozen beauty and thawed it into its becoming. The kiss in the cab, the moment on the beach at sunset, are seared into my code. The music splattered in every nook of our memories. And that was just the tip of it all.  You mirrored the wounded little girl in the full arc of her glaring imperfections. Wounds she h...
Read more

The diaspora within

   I promised I'd write today - and here I'm. Dripping melancholy from rejuvenating veins. A quiet, austere knowing in my bones, in my breath. New understandings have arisen from shedding skin, sweat, and invisible blood.  One moment I'm rushing to the A train, wind whistling in my hair, music blaring in my ears. I walk past the doggy day care center, I used to work here. I love Chase, and little Izzy. They see me through the window and make a commotion that would drive wolves away, and I smile. I walk ahead and see the farmer's market, and enjoy a blueberry pie, freshly baked ; one I usually devoured in a single sitting. Lovers and families graze around the place and each other on a warm summer's day. Winter was brutal, but watching legs that don't end in shorts that blind the bare eye is almost worth it. A bakery at the end of the street is lit up for no real reason save the regality of lavishness sparking the passerby's eye. The crisp air weaves a tapestr...
Read more