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I remember being catatonic, lying there in my own urine unable to move or speak—that I remember!

Walking the streets endlessly, eyes to the ground in search of the most perfect cigarette butt, given the constraints with which I was working—that I remember!

The endless stream of handcuffs and gurneys and psych-ERs, quiet rooms and gaining weight because food and cigarettes were all we had—those things I remember!

Working at jobs not worthy of me because they were all I could get, surviving in that limbo while bumming ever more smokes from well-intended co-workers who had to be growing more weary of this 'shnorer' (Yiddish for beggar) who won't buy his own—that I remember!

Hating myself for not living according to my beliefs—that too I remember!

I believed in doing something good with my life, making a worthwhile contribution in return for this precious gift I have been given. Yet I could die tomorrow from this cigarette cough, from the two packs a day and what they were doing to me! Of course, I hated myself for letting this happen. This I remember.

I remember building a life worth living with wonderful friendships, a loving family, a career in the mental health recovery movement that really added meaning and purpose to my life. I remember learning how to keep myself happy so that I no longer got depressed. And I remember that, finally, after many years of thinking I could "beat this thing on my own," I walked into a Nicotine Anonymous meeting that probably saved my life.

What I don't remember is asking anyone to LET me do any of it, to let me feel as I wish, to let me stand on my own, to let me do the right thing, to let me speak my mind, and to let me be the person I want to be. I don't remember asking permission for any of it.

A lot of people have tried and still try to stop me from being a man. I never did ask their permission and I don't expect I ever will!