Last night I confessed to my wife. In the last month, I smoked a few times. By a few, I mean less than 10. She didn't take it so well. I tried to explain it to her. I tried to tell her that this was how it was, that dealing with an addiction wasn't easy. I told her that there were days when you'd feel like the most invincible quitter of all time and that there were days when you were very vulnerable. I told her that my addiction was going to be with me till the day that I die and that I would have to fight it every single day of it. I tried to tell her how difficult It was, to describe in so many words how hard it was to carry such a heavy burden. I knew cigarettes kill. I knew what damage they could do. There were just tmes that I couldn't stop myself. Cigarette smoke already tastes stale to me, a proof that my body has gotten over the addiction that had caused terrible withdrawal symptoms. What remains is the psychological addiction that I have in my head. It is a much more formidable foe, so much more stronger that anything I've ever gone against.

Maybe that's why I've been obsessing about building computer. My subconscious was trying to save me from my own conscious thoughts, filling my head with thoughts of building something. I missed a lot of opportunities to smoke because of that preoccupation with technology.

As expected, she didn't take it so well. She launched into a lecture of her own, increasing my frustration. I had let her down. I already knew that. My wife's enunciation of that fact furthered my guilt. In the end, after all the words she still could (or would ) not understand. I can't blame her. She won't be able to unless she goes through the same thing. I knew of the consequnces of my actions. My father died of smoking. So did my grandafather. I was well aware of the dangers.

After saying her piece, she left me all alone in our room. I cried in sheer frustration. I felt so lonely during those five long minutes that I cried. When she came back, the tears were gone. She put her arm around me. Though I knew she wanted to comfort me, I didn't feel comforted. As was my nature in times of crisis, I was withdrawn. I took her arms from my shoulder and I stood up. I went to get a shower.

When I got to the shower, I just stood there. No thoughts crossed my head. I just stared at the wall for what must've been a long time. I was startled when my wife called. She must've noticed that I've been in there a while. I started to shower and was disappointed that it failed to help me relax my tense feelings. Taking showers have always helped me feel better. Last night, it didn't. At that point I was depressed. I just got dressed and went on to work without much thought or motive. The night wore on, as if it were endless...