I had morbid fantasies on how I would die, and preferably at the age of 30.
When I first picked up smoking at 19 or 20, I was already well aware of its harmful side effects.
I was then depressed, and perhaps there were no better reasons not to shorten my life span.
And I got depressed again, at 21 or 22, and turned to endless lambos, waterfalls and liquid xtcs.
It seems that everytime I got depressed, I picked up habits that provide temporary yet new comforts which are in fact deceivingly fatal.
Life has since been kind and good. Now in my mid-life crisis, dying at 30 does seem tad too early.
I exercise, I try to eat healthy and pop vitamins daily.
Ironically, I take liver supplements daily to prolong the life of my alcoholic organs.
Is it difficult to kick these habits? Or is this statement just an excuse for addicts like me to indulge in depressions we cannot get by?
Why are habits, that are blatantly bad, so damn attractive?
In my life, laughter is perhaps only a form of utopian fantasy, something forced and temporary.
When life is good, socially undesirable habits and life threatening situations remind me that, all what I am having, is real.