Mea Culpa my love/hate affair with smoking

I was 12 years old, cocky, bit out of control. I was sitting astride Phil's 750 worn but impressive Yamaha, chatting. Phil was 17, a friend of my older brother, long hair, leather jacket smelling of petrol and cigarettes. I asked if I could have a draw of his No 6, chuffed when he handed it to me, mostly chuffed that he and his mates were treating me like a was a teenager and female. I was attempting flirtation, smoking like I was an expert, confident that I looked older with my khol eyeliner and scarlet lips. We were talking about some obscure lyrics  from a band that I had not heard of but was pretending I loved. I felt the displaced air around my left ear before I felt the pain. My scarlet smile died, just like the easy going ambience. I fell forward and twisted into a spin jump,landing catlike, facing my father.' HOME ',he snarled. I ran ahead, fuck fuck fuck, I'm so dead, my feet beat into the pavement. At home I raced to the bathroom and locked the door. 'Give me a stick, ' my father yelled 'a big stick, I'm gonna break that wee girl's bones!' I looked frantically around the bathroom, I used to be able to fit through the small, uppermost window, but since*cringe* I had become a woman ( I hated the term menstruation) and had the beginnings of hips and baby breasts , I couldn't fit anymore. A row ensued outside the door, my Mum was demanding to know what the problem was and was drawing my Dad's fire. I unscrewed Dad's razor and thought 'Do it, end this fucking useless existence, I'm nothing but a pain to everyone anyway, I hated them all but myself much, much, more. He didn't kill me, I didn't kill myself, and smoking became a part of who I am.
Now, once again, I am attempting to turn my back on smoking, to convice myself, this is NOT who I am. It makes no sense. My mum and Darren's dad both suffer from a smoking-related disease. I have stopped so many times I have lost count. I am a serial stopper. I stopped once for 6 years, never smoked when I carried or breast fed any of my 3 children. Last time I gave up, I stopped for 6 months and felt better, looked better, had so much more energy. Then one of my homeless clients was murdered. Stabbed to death, in June of this year. I knew him for 2 years. I liked him. I ran to the newspapershop and greedily sucked the deadly fumes deep into my lungs, as if it was oxygen and I had been suffocating. Now I am starting to feel the minus health effects again, too frequent colds, using my asthmatic meds more often, post midnight wheeze. My Dad is not around to get a big stick to beat the evil out of me. I am my own judge, jury and executioner. 3 days.............and counting.