The Dutiful Smoking Daughter

Anxiety happens!  It happens in groups where I am being watched and judged.  It happens with the sainted Mother, Theresa.  It happens when I speak.  It happens when I don’t speak.  It happens under the eaves of the house as I sneak a cigarette.  Yes, I am 22 and chronologically an adult.  Yet, I still hide.  I hide in the bathroom nearest my attic confinement.  The perfume helps to make me feel better.  The smoke still resides in me and my clothes.  I get caught.  I get told I am nasty and dirty and disgusting.  I still sneak cigarettes whenever I can.

The only time that I feel less anxious is when I am completely naked in front of strangers or having sex.  I haven’t had much opportunity to do either now that the shit has hit the fan.  The last time I hung my big 36 double D’s…