Evelyn de Morgan (1855-1919) - Night and Sleep (1878), oil on canvas, De Morgan Centre, London UK.
Many people self medicate when they’re depressed.
These days I use prescription medicine, correctly medically prescribed, and it mostly works. Because of my personal backstory of an out of control childhood, mind bending drugs have never held a great appeal for me.
That’s why the drug I used to abuse was tobacco. As near as I can tell I was born addicted to cigarettes. I resisted smoking until a low point in my life when I was 21, but unlike pretty much everybody I know, I didn’t turn green the first time I lit a cigarette. In fact, on my first night as a cigarette smoker I smoked an entire 20 pack of cigarettes. And later on, when I got pregnant, again, unlike pretty much every other smoker I knew, morning sickness didn’t stretch to smoking. When I was so nauseous I couldn’t keep down water I could still smoke. My doctor told me the stress and guilt in trying and failing to quit smoking was hard on me and the baby, so we worked out a compromise: I reduced how much I smoked to around 6 half cigarettes a day.
I don’t have any evidence for this, but my mother smoked through all of her pregnancies, so I think I was born addicted. I finally managed to quit thanks to the Patch, but I had to discontinue using the patch about half way through because of an allergic reaction. If I ever have another cigarette I’ll be a smoker again, and the patch won’t be an option.
And I do know smoking helped me cope with stress and depression. Even though the physical effects are far in the past, there are times I wish I could have a cigarette to calm down. But I don’t. So far.
