DIR Return Create A Forum - Home
---------------------------------------------------------
Unofficial NicA
HTML https://unofficialnica.createaforum.com
---------------------------------------------------------
*****************************************************
DIR Return to: On the Other Side of a Quit
*****************************************************
#Post#: 7--------------------------------------------------
Viola's Story
DIR By: chairperson
Date: March 23, 2019, 10:02 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
I was born in upstate New York, in Binghamton. I was raised in a
small hamlet outside of the city, called Conklin, which was
farmland and one could go through the countryside and not see
houses for miles. It was a very secluded and sheltered way of
living. We had no shower or bathtub and had to bathe out of the
small sink in the bathroom; filling the sink with water heated
on the stove.
There was a dairy farm across the road and up the dirt paved
street, one of the largest farms in the area.
I was transported by bus to grade school and then high school in
that area. I went to college in Binghamton to become a
Radiological Technologist, which was my career for twenty plus
years. It should have been a lazy, kick-backed existence, but
was not to be, in what I called then, the house from hell.
Both of my parents were violent, mentally ill alcoholics and
never stopped drinking, only on very rare occasions; perhaps, a
Sunday evening when all the drinking from the week and weekend
caught up with them.
I had two older brothers and one older sister who were violent
towards me, as well as to my par-ents.
I’m an incest survivor and suffered repeated molestation's from
my father and my one brother. I was neglected and beaten. I
remember seeing my brother stabbed and he had had three
fractured skulls as the result of my mom’s insanity. We were
very poor, but there was always money for alcohol and
cigarettes.
That’s where my story really begins, cigarettes. From my
earliest memory, I always recall my parents smoking. Non-stop
chain-smoking.
Ours was a small house and there was always the odor and haze of
cigarette smoke in the air. The winters were hard and we were
always confined to the house, breathing in their cigarette
smoke. There was no escape.
I am giving you all this background information , as to paint a
clear picture of what I believe. That not only was I born with
the addict gene but that I also learned addict behaviors as a
child. Of course, I chose to pick up cigarettes, but I had very
poor examples of how to take good care of my health. I was-n’t
nurtured as a child, nor did I grow-up in a healthy environment.
I was very self-destructive and sui-cidal most of my young life
and into my thirties. My father would not allow me to go to
college any-where out of the city; he had a very unhealthy sick
control over me, as well as over my mom.
I was a freshman in college and everyone, or at least it seemed
everyone, was smoking on campus.
Yes, at first I had to practice. When I took my mom to the
doctors I would wait in the car, steal a cigarette from her
stash and cough and choke as I tried to get the smoke into my
lungs. I could experiment with different brands to see which one
I could smoke without gagging so much. Oh, the insanity even
then. Isn’t that what our Second Step states: that I was in-sane
and could be restored to sanity?
I finally became adjusted to my new habit and smoked with ease,
getting the smoke down as deep into my lungs as I could. I would
smoke in the Student Union on campus, where everyone went
between classes. And so I was off to the races, smoking a total
of thirty-three years, with some time of abstinence in between.
The longest quit I had lasted two years.
I smoked in the car and at my job, which was being a nanny to
four young boys. Socially and alone, or anywhere I could sneak
one.
By this time my older brothers and sister were gone from the
home and leading their own lives. Eventually, my mom knew I
smoked and allowed me to smoke in front of her, but never in
front of my father.
I never really felt I belonged with my college peers. I started
drinking at eighteen. There were bars open off campus and
smoking and drinking seemed to go hand and hand. I learned at
this tender age, how to numb my feelings of deep hurt and shame.
I made my big escape to a city fifty miles North of Binghamton,
called Norwich, NY and started my first X-ray job working in a
hospital. I was twenty years old. I met a fellow there and we
dated for a time. I moved to Tucson, AZ when I was twentyone,
leaving family and friends behind for what I thought was a new
begin-ning. I brought my cigarettes with me. I worked at a
hospital there and we were allowed to smoke in areas just
outside the X-ray rooms; so a cigarette was always lit and I
always smelled like an ashtray going into my patients, leaning
over them.
The fellow I left behind in Norwich, NY, moved to California and
lived with his aunt and uncle.
I moved from Tucson to Southern California and we were married
for seven and a half years, an unhappy marriage. I remember
quitting for short periods of time in that marriage and even for
a year, white-knuckling it. My husband didn’t want me to smoke
and I con-tinued even though he was dead set against it.
Probably a control issue, because I was out of control, in my
marriage. I fell and hurt my back in the bathroom and remember
staying home on bed rest for three weeks. This was supposed to
be a time when I wasn’t smoking. I smoked all day long and aired
out the bedroom and took a shower and brushed my teeth, thinking
my husband would never have guessed I was chain-smoking all day.
I was hospitalized on several occasions for systemic infections
and was allowed to bring my cigarettes along and smoke in my
hospital bed, while I was given antibiotic through IV’s.
Cigarettes were my constant companion at work, love and play and
accompanied me in every area of my life.
The marriage finally ended and I do believe my smoking stuffed
the feelings of emotional neglect and abuse that I tried to deal
with.
To be continued in the next issue…
*****************************************************
Page 1 of 1