It’s bothering me that I am thinking about how to explain this to you. So I am just going to fucking write it. I want to smoke. I want to be like everyone else. And that’s never come easy to me. So saying you like that I can’t makes me feel like you like that I have struggles that feel insurmountable, that I usually feel like I am a failure, and that I will never ever be like a normal person. I have always felt strange, apart, and abnormal/defective. I have never fit in outside a psychiatric setting and that happened when I was thirty years old. Until then I was never similar to anyone I had ever met. I was completely alone. I’m socially inept and physically clumsy, estranged from my body because it feels like a foreign entity. I am only smart. Actually brilliant and I was incredibly precocious. But decades of stress, anxiety, and depression actually deteriorate the brain, causing premature cognitive decline. I can’t remember. I can’t recall the word I want to say or spell it. It’s difficult to focus or concentrate. I am not creative anymore. So I have and am losing the only thing positive I possessed in life. You started drinking at 13, but at 13 I decided life was more misery than joy. That nothing in the future of my life is worth staying alive to experience it. It’s my most steadfast belief, my truth. So, you don’t understand how frustrated I feel about not being able to connect, find meaning, accomplish goals, and feel happy. I can’t change my reality or alter my truth. That is my only reliable experience in three decades. I don’t like that. So I worry about failing at a physically activity as mundane as breathing in smoke. I find it difficult to accomplish and therefore am humiliated that I can’t do something almost everyone else can.