Smoking

I was born in London but spent much of my childhood growing up in Tunisia with my grandparents. I returned to the UK at age seven and lived with my parents and siblings in East London. I attended local schools and college, where I earned A-levels and an AS-level. I felt connected and loyal to my community.
At eighteen, I went to university away from home. During my first semester, my grandad passed away, which affected me deeply. Around this time, I started smoking cannabis. I struggled academically and failed my first year. I tried again at a different university, hoping for a fresh start and extra funding, but I failed again. The lack of family support, not having a private space to study, and my cannabis use made it difficult to focus and succeed. I felt isolated and uncertain about my future.
By the age of twenty-one, I tried to reintegrate into the community but found no clear path forward. I stayed at home to rest and recover, but I began experiencing delusions related to the internet and ideas of reference — feeling that unrelated events or messages were directed at me. Around this time, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.
Later, I faced serious family conflict. My father falsely accused me of hitting him during an altercation, leading to my being kicked out of the family home. My mother, sister, and others sided against me, leaving me homeless. Despite seeking help from the council, I was not given housing and ended up sleeping on the streets. Struggling to survive, I committed theft and was involved in altercations, which resulted in an eighteen-month prison sentence.
During my time in prison, the system helped secure accommodation for me upon release. However, I met people in prison who fueled my anger about the unfairness and stigma I felt from society and the system. Since then, I have spent time in several bed and breakfast accommodations and have been in and out of prison.

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In my heart, I knew I was in the right. But I felt my human rights were violated in ways that left me angry and defensive. I became argumentative, determined to prove my experience was real by any means necessary. Yet, I refused to talk openly about what I went through, which only deepened misunderstandings. That doesn’t justify the discrimination and prejudice I faced — that’s on those who judged without knowing.
I wasn’t naïve enough to think the whole community was against me, but I needed my story to be heard and preserved. Conflicts of interest kept arising around me, which may not have been personal attacks, but as a 26-year-old navigating adulthood with little experience, I felt misunderstood. Compassion and understanding were what I longed for — experience is a kind of knowledge, and I was still learning. I also struggled with taking my medication consistently and wasn’t always receiving the benefits I was entitled to. I’m part of this society, and I wanted to be treated as such.
I’ve always been comfortable with my diagnosis, but when you’re

Pauley is being... herself I guess. And after one year of not paying rent or electricity and only just got her own food stamps... But she's dragging ass to spend any food money on me.
I'm kinda high and I have my reasons.
I'm near tears and feeling like I'm asking for too much and I'm a fat hog who needs some good smoking and basted. Sorry I just saw a picture of smoked ham. I'm so hungry.
I don't want to end up resenting Pauley. I love her dearly and I wouldn't be complete 💯. Shes my left brain and I am her right brain.
#Relationships #BackPain #MentalHealth #noxisstoned

I just feel so happy and I have no pain. I wish I could share this pain free euphoria with my friends. It's so nice. I'm a bit more aware of my room around me. I know that doesn't make sense. I'm not used to being high. I never got into smoking pot in my 20s or 30s. Sure I tried more than a few edibles and I loved how they made me feel better. But sometimes when I get high I also get nauseous. Lucky for me I have zofran. My head doesn't hurt anymore. It feels like swirly sparkly magic. Which is to say I like me and I feel wonderful. And for more logic side of my brain...no prodrome. Which is huge.
Weeeeeeee.

Just a quick update for anyone that cares ,

I’m in a php now . Has it been helping ? Not sure yet . I admit , group therapy is better than expected & im grateful for it . I haven’t been able to stop drinking & smoking , but I’m trying . Then again I’m not really trying because who cares if I’m a drunk that’s destroying my life . If I’m smoking to numb my feelings , so what ? Idk but being in a room where other people get it , is a little helpful but my suicidal ideations haven’t changed . I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar so I’m just trying to navigate through that , I also think there’s some adhd but I haven’t bought it up to the doctor just yet , one thing at a time yk ?

Ok, here we go. I am sure the #Anxiety is playing a role but I am not sure how to go about it and I can't say anything about bc I fear I will lose control and start arguing/fighting.

About a year ago a new neighbor moved into the condos I live in. Figured out after a couple weeks that it was someone that had gone to the same High School but they were a class ahead of mine. We didn't have the same social or economic circles for sure, in fact, I vividly recall some of their friends did bully me a bit in school (20+ years ago) for being small and weird.

Fast forward to after they moved in. Hadn't spoken to them (and they haven't spoken to me) but their dog wants to charge at mine, and they haven't done a real good job at cleaning up after their dog, they put up some awful and gawdy patio stuff that doesn't really fit into the space (looks packed in).

Now just recently it seems that they have moved out but their parentals have moved in. That's all fine. I keep to myself, try not to bother anyone, you know. However, one of the newest neighbors has sat out front in their patio almost the entire day for the entire week, facing my door smoking cigars (almost non-stop). So every time i try to leave, they are there watching me leave. Every time I come back, they are there watching me come home. Can't open my windows for long before it starts smelling like cigars. It's creepy and annoying.

While I don't think it is intentional, I think my anxiety is making it seem worse than it is. And the #ObsessiveCompulsiveDisorder is obsessing over it on the forefront of my mind (especially when I seeing them when leaving or coming home).

I've lived here for over 15 years peacefully, i really don't want to move or start fighting with neighbors.

Hi! I'll attempt to keep this one short, unlike my other posts.

I grew up a non-smoker in a very much smoker family (everyone, including the teens, smoked except for grandma and me). We all live in one big family house which has three floors. Each of us, or I guess each "family unit" has their own flat, complete with the bathroom and kitchen etc. The smoking family members would all gather in the second floor hallway and chainsmoke with the window only a little cracked, pretty much using the place as a balcony.

As a kid I grew up with my emotionally neglectful & abusive grandmother who lived on the second floor, but very close to the stairs leading downstairs, away from the part of the hallway where they used to gather. This was ironically ideal as at least I didn't smell it as much back then and the only thing bothering me back then was the cat hair on my clothes I got bullied for and the feathers in my bedding I was allergic to, oh and I guess also grandma but that's besides the point. :P

Afterwards something happened that made my dad move me upstairs, and I remained there since then. This upstairs flat does not have a bathroom or a functioning kitchen, so I always have to walk down the stairs, open and close the door leading to the stairs and move through the second floor hallway if I want to go to the toilet, get kitchen appliances, literally just leave or move freely throughout the house.

As a kid it was really bad because, as I said, there were about 1-5 people smoking there at any random moment and I needed to power through that. Plus I couldn't have said anything to them either because they'd get mad I'm straying away from them or defending my health (lol fuckers).

Now at least most of the people have moved out and only two sometimes smoke there, so it's better. Still definitely not ideal, but better! Except for when some of them visit, like the teens that are now adults that now have a partner of their own who also smokes and that fuckass annoying baby they like to expose to second hand smoke that I have to pretend I find cute, even though it always reeks of smoke and shit and will probably end up with a shit ton of problems in the future. And then they all gather in the hallway and ruin the air again and again. The new people always seem to use the worst smelling brands, too, and I have to pretend like I appreciate their presence at all, which drains me to no ends. Can't wait for when they leave.

It bothers me a ton, because I have to time my actions throughout the day constantly like going to take a dump, taking out the trash, talking to people downstairs if it's needed or if they want me to etc. and it's annoying to do that and then miscalculate and end up with potential smoke in the hair/clothes/SELF and then just the feeling of not feeling clean and worrying about getting cancer. Plus the clothes were expensive, and just freshly washed.

It's also annoying when I time it juuust right, after they just smoked and I can still smell it in the air. I try to hold my breath but it isn't doing much. I always run upstairs really fast afterwards and get a tissue to blow into, I guess to reassure myself that I'm alright now.

A trip from the hallway and out of it usually takes me about 4 seconds because again, I try to be really fast, but running up the stairs while holding my breath all while the smoke is still seeping into the rest of my skin exacerbating my skin problems and possibly creating new ones in the process takes longer, around 7 seconds. My question is, how likely is this to impact my health?

I was toying with the idea of going to the cardiologist and telling him about all of this (except for the part where I'm inconsiderate about my family of course), so that he could maybe write a fake note telling them my issues got worse and that a potential culprit could have been their smoking, so if they please couldn't smoke outside instead. Corrupt, but it could work, I think?

Then again, the house is my grandma's, and she doesn't really care about any of this even though she is a non-smoker as well, so it's probably not accomplishable. Doubt she'd make an exception for JUST me either. Seems unbalanced.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and I will be glad for any responses. :)#CPTSD #EmotionalNeglect #Smoking #cigarettes #help #MentalHealth edited for the tags

I didn't choose to heal; it chose me.

I remember the moment I cut the cord from my parents, and it was scary and liberating. Not knowing how they would initially react, I was pleasantly surprised and heartbroken at their lack of outreach and misunderstanding. It's like they were waiting for this moment to happen. The longer I went without speaking to them, I began to realize the cold, hard truth that they didn't care at all.

Free from their grip, I began to spiral down a dark hole inside my mind of forgotten memories. I've lost count of how many times I've wanted to give up on that darkness. How many times I've told myself it's too hard, too painful, too much. But somehow I'm still here. Still trying to fulfill my purpose in this life.

I come from a lineage of people who survived by numbing, by silencing, by pretending nothing happened. So I came to this world to break all cycles, the ultimate generational curse breaker. It's literally in my birth chart. I felt a strong purpose since I was seven years old. I'm a firm believer that we choose our parents and the hardships we endure. I will clarify that we didn't sign up for exactly what happened; free will is truly a scary concept. I'm here to break the cycles of abuse, neglect, trauma, addiction, honestly, all of it.

All of the abuse I've been through, the neglect, the sexual abuse, emotional and verbal abuse has affected me in various ways. I'm emotionally intelligent, but my emotions explode because I was never taught how to regulate. I'm learning now. I stopped giving my body to random men well over ten years ago. Always searching for something that wasn't there or trying to fill the void of pain and loneliness. Teaching myself to be kind, not just to myself, but to others as well. Creating strong, healthy boundaries, learning to say no. The most challenging of them all: addiction.

I didn't start smoking cigarettes until the day after my 18th birthday, being peer pressured into it. I continued to smoke cigarettes until I was 31 years old and quit cold turkey. I started drinking the summer after high school, under peer pressure, to fit in with my friends, and I found an outlet. A way to cope with things that I didn't remember. I felt lost but found. There was smoking of cannabis during this time. I preferred smoking over drinking, but this was before it was legal in my state to purchase cannabis. I drank heavily for the next 8 years, always searching for someone to connect with on a physical level, but nothing beyond that. When I said the healing journey chose me, this is what I mean; in September 2015, I was at a wedding with some friends, and I had been drinking. Later in the evening, I got a migraine. My first ever, and that was the turning point in my life.

It was a glamorous journey. I struggled to be sober. I struggled with staying home on the weekends, not being able to be at the bar with friends. Who were not friends, just people that happened to be drinking at the same watering hole. It honestly wasn't until after the New Year that I started to make real changes. I saw a doctor, I went on depression meds, and started practicing Yoga once per week. I spent the next few years physcially detoxing from all the crap I put in my body. I changed my diet, tried to sleep more, exercise, etc. I felt like I was walking up an icy mountain, not really making any progress but still trying. Mainly because I was still living with my parents at this time. Still under their abusive manipulation. I had no idea what I had just started.

I did quit drinking. My mom was an alcoholic, so that's an easy no for me. She killed herself three years ago. That's another story, for another time. I did, however, utilize the fact that at the beginning of 2020, marijuana became legal in my state. It was a godsend. Marijuana helped me cope and process over the next 5 years, and now here I am present moment, writing this out and struggling to let go of my edibles. My body is rejecting them, just like my body was rejecting alcohol. I crave the numbness, the release, but my heart says no. It's an internal battle that I keep to myself, wishing to be sober, but the bridge to get there is burning, itchy cravings that are the hardest part to get through.

I'm at the end of my numbing journey. I now know that I don't need it anymore. It's the in-between the old and the new, learning to cope with new techniques. I now choose healing not because it's easy, but because I'm tired of pain being the only legacy I carry forward. I refuse to be like either of my parents. I won't let my story end the same way. I also know deep in my soul that I am meant to help bring great change. It may feel like to end is all around, but I have hope that this is the downfall that we all need. Whether that's on your own personal journey or in the current state of our world. The old must be exposed before the new can be accepted.

Even if you're the first in your family to choose healing, even if no one claps for you, your choice matters. You matter. And you're not alone.

#MentalHealth #change #CPTSD #healingjourney #soberiety #choices #TraumaRecovery #AddictionRecovery

Fellow Mighty member @mightyaut has expressed her fears regarding the state of care for disabled people in the United States. I am adding my voice to hers, as I believe it is important that we understand the threat that Donald Trump poses to the services that disabled folk rely on.

I had reservations about Mr. Trump from the beginning of his candidacy in 2015. His mockery of disabled Washington Post reporter Serge Kovaleski convinced me that Mr. Trump lacks compassion and was unfit to be President. Learning about Mr. Trump’s nephew Fred and Fred’s disabled son William only strengthened my conviction that Mr. Trump is unfit to lead a nation with a substantial disabled population. Fred visited his uncle to express his concerns about the increasing cost of William’s care, and Mr. Trump told his nephew that he should just let his son die. According to an article in The Guardian, Mr. Trump expressed the same sentiment to a group of physicians and disability advocates he met at the White House. In Mr. Trump’s eyes, the lives of disabled people have no value; they are a burden to be disposed of. Fred Trump said, understandably, that it hurt him to hear his uncle speak that way about his son. He added,“Acceptance and tolerance would only come with public education and awareness…Donald might never understand this.”

Mr. Trump is intent on destroying the Department of Education, which, among other duties, maintains the Office for Civil Rights. This office investigates when schools discriminate against or abuse disabled students. An article in USA Today says that shortly after taking office, Mr. Trump ordered that 243 staffers from that office be laid off, crippling its ability to look out for its young charges. Allowing discrimination and abuse to go unchecked normalizes seeing disabled people as “other.” This in turn makes it easier to paint disabled people as subhuman.

Disabled folk disgust Mr. Trump. He doesn’t see us as people, instead viewing us solely in terms of how expensive it is to keep us alive. His solution is slashing Medicaid, a move one disability advocate calls a “soft” version of Nazi Germany’s Aktion T4 euthanasia program. Between 1939 and 1945, pediatricians, psychiatrists and nurses working for the Third Reich murdered upwards of 300,000 mentally and physically disabled children and adults after the Reich disparaged them as “useless eaters’ and “burdensome lives.” The equivalent manifesting in 2025 America is more subtle: deny vulnerable Americans access to care while denigrating them as parasites and the reason that MAGA’s diehard supporters can’t have nice things. In the meantime, the money the country saves by killing its most vulnerable citizens will fund a tax cut for Elon Musk. If Mr. Musk spent an amount totaling my father’s mortgage every day of the year, it would take over ten thousand years to exhaust his net worth. I for one am glad that Mr. Musk will see his tax burden relieved. I don’t know how he summons the strength to go on, making do with so little.

The need for brevity has obliged me to simplify my arguments against President Trump. At this juncture, I recall helpful advice offered by fantasy author George R. R. Martin when the President was running against Hillary Clinton. Martin pointed out that Mrs. Clinton’s campaign ads were straightforward, unedited clips of Mr. Trump being himself, because the strongest argument against Mr. Trump becoming President has always been Mr. Trump himself. To paraphrase Mr. Martin, you don’t need to listen to Mrs. Clinton, George R.R. Martin, or me. Listen to Trump. Watch videos of his speeches. Read the transcript of his address at West Point over Memorial Day weekend. Look at his social media accounts. Then ask yourself, seriously, if this is a man who should be deciding whether you deserve to have health care or not.

Thank you, @mightyaut, for creating this group. I hope it will encourage others to speak out as well. Before I go, I recommend Sarah Kendzior’s Substack as a source of information on the danger that Mr. Trump poses to American democracy. As Ms. Kendzior puts it, the smoking gun pointing to Mr. Trump’s crimes against ordinary Americans is smoking because Mr. Trump is shooting this country to death, and that won’t change until enough of us stand up to a man who is little more than a glorified bully.

Fellow Mighty member @mightyaut has expressed her fears regarding the state of care for disabled people in the United States. I am adding my voice to hers, as I believe it is important that we understand the threat that Donald Trump poses to the services that disabled folk rely on.

I had reservations about Mr. Trump from the beginning of his candidacy in 2015. His mockery of disabled Washington Post reporter Serge Kovaleski convinced me that Mr. Trump lacks compassion and was unfit to be President. Learning about Mr. Trump’s nephew Fred and Fred’s disabled son William only strengthened my conviction that Mr. Trump is unfit to lead a nation with a substantial disabled population. Fred visited his uncle to express his concerns about the increasing cost of William’s care, and Mr. Trump told his nephew that he should just let his son die. According to an article in The Guardian, Mr. Trump expressed the same sentiment to a group of physicians and disability advocates he met at the White House. In Mr. Trump’s eyes, the lives of disabled people have no value; they are a burden to be disposed of. Fred Trump said, understandably, that it hurt him to hear his uncle speak that way about his son. He added,“Acceptance and tolerance would only come with public education and awareness…Donald might never understand this.”

Mr. Trump is intent on destroying the Department of Education, which, among other duties, maintains the Office for Civil Rights. This office investigates when schools discriminate against or abuse disabled students. An article in USA Today says that shortly after taking office, Mr. Trump ordered that 243 staffers from that office be laid off, crippling its ability to look out for its young charges. Allowing discrimination and abuse to go unchecked normalizes seeing disabled people as “other.” This in turn makes it easier to paint disabled people as subhuman.

Disabled folk disgust Mr. Trump. He doesn’t see us as people, instead viewing us solely in terms of how expensive it is to keep us alive. His solution is slashing Medicaid, a move one disability advocate calls a “soft” version of Nazi Germany’s Aktion T4 euthanasia program. Between 1939 and 1945, pediatricians, psychiatrists and nurses working for the Third Reich murdered upwards of 300,000 mentally and physically disabled children and adults after the Reich disparaged them as “useless eaters’ and “burdensome lives.” The equivalent manifesting in 2025 America is more subtle: deny vulnerable Americans access to care while denigrating them as parasites and the reason that MAGA’s diehard supporters can’t have nice things. In the meantime, the money the country saves by killing its most vulnerable citizens will fund a tax cut for Elon Musk. If Mr. Musk spent an amount totaling my father’s mortgage every day of the year, it would take over ten thousand years to exhaust his net worth. I for one am glad that Mr. Musk will see his tax burden relieved. I don’t know how he summons the strength to go on, making do with so little.

The need for brevity has obliged me to simplify my arguments against President Trump. At this juncture, I recall helpful advice offered by fantasy author George R. R. Martin when the President was running against Hillary Clinton. Martin pointed out that Mrs. Clinton’s campaign ads were straightforward, unedited clips of Mr. Trump being himself, because the strongest argument against Mr. Trump becoming President has always been Mr. Trump himself. To paraphrase Mr. Martin, you don’t need to listen to Mrs. Clinton, George R.R. Martin, or me. Listen to Trump. Watch videos of his speeches. Read the transcript of his address at West Point over Memorial Day weekend. Look at his social media accounts. Then ask yourself, seriously, if this is a man who should be deciding whether you deserve to have health care or not.

Thank you, @mightyaut, for your posts and the encouragement they gave me to speak out. I hope others will follow your example and speak out as well. Before I go, I recommend Sarah Kendzior’s Substack as a source of information on the danger that Mr. Trump poses to American democracy. As Ms. Kendzior puts it, the smoking gun pointing to Mr. Trump’s crimes against ordinary Americans is smoking because Mr. Trump is shooting this country to death, and that won’t change until enough of us stand up to a man who is little more than a glorified bully. #Disability #MentalHealth #Depression #Trauma #PTSD #Suicide