Sometimes a cigarette is just a
cigarette…
 |
| Cigarette Dream |
Monday, March 11, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
2 Weeks!
I ate so much over this weekend that I vomited on Saturday night. Most likely it was do to a store bought Mexican dip that was a little questionable. Even still, I didn't have to eat quite so much of it. Unfortunately, in these past weeks I've been stuffing my face uncontrollably to fill the cigarette void. Gum doesn't quite do the trick, and if I chew too much of it (especially cinnamon), I wake up the next day with canker sores.
To battle this horrible overeating chapter, I have been trying to compensate with overexercising. Thus far, out of 14 days sans cigarettes, I have spent 12 of them on the treadmill. To tell you the truth exercising, (which I always hated), is probably the best part of my day now. It is the only time where I am completely free of thoughts of smoking.
Over the course of the weekend I stayed at the house of my future in-laws who also happen to be smokers. At one point I thought of stealing my future mother-in-law's coat just to inhale the damn thing. Although the daily routine has gotten slightly easier as a "non-smoker", the challenge of facing the sporadic moments is almost like starting all over again from square one. In these past two weeks I have started to get accustomed to going to work, coming home each time without the formally vital habitual cigarette. But now I am faced with "semi occasional routines" and new memory associations to conquer. Just as you think you're starting to get the hang of it, a new association of your former smoker self pops up and each time you have to reassure yourself that isn't you anymore. Instead, you need to remind yourself that you are the crazy eater that vomits at her friend's house and is ready to do "lines" of her mother-in-laws smokey winter coat...
To battle this horrible overeating chapter, I have been trying to compensate with overexercising. Thus far, out of 14 days sans cigarettes, I have spent 12 of them on the treadmill. To tell you the truth exercising, (which I always hated), is probably the best part of my day now. It is the only time where I am completely free of thoughts of smoking.
Over the course of the weekend I stayed at the house of my future in-laws who also happen to be smokers. At one point I thought of stealing my future mother-in-law's coat just to inhale the damn thing. Although the daily routine has gotten slightly easier as a "non-smoker", the challenge of facing the sporadic moments is almost like starting all over again from square one. In these past two weeks I have started to get accustomed to going to work, coming home each time without the formally vital habitual cigarette. But now I am faced with "semi occasional routines" and new memory associations to conquer. Just as you think you're starting to get the hang of it, a new association of your former smoker self pops up and each time you have to reassure yourself that isn't you anymore. Instead, you need to remind yourself that you are the crazy eater that vomits at her friend's house and is ready to do "lines" of her mother-in-laws smokey winter coat...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Day 10
Patience is a
virtue rarely, (if ever) bestowed upon the former smoker in the early stages of
quitting. My thirst for destruction is
at an all-time high. Yesterday I was
playing a game of pinball during my lunch break. As I continually lost game after game, it
took all my willpower to not take a chair and repeatedly hurl it up in the air
and smash the machine. Later on in the
day, I found myself shooting death stares at my coworker as she scccchlurrrpped
and chomped on a piece of gum. (Luckily
she couldn't see me silently cursing her name as I hid behind my computer
screen). I imagined myself climbing up
on my desk and lunging at her ninja style.
The cravings are
far less intense than they were last week. My thoughts of smoking recur less and less, and I don’t have to remind
myself that I don’t smoke as often.
Now that little thought bubble only appears once every 15 minutes
instead of once every 5. However, even
with these minor victories, I’m fairly sure that I am pretty unpleasant to be
around at the moment. It’s a bad sign
when you are fantasizing about judo chopping your coworker in two just because
she had the audacity to chew a piece of gum.
All this built up
tension and stress got me to thinking about balance. My daily routines were all balanced by an
equation that included a cigarette. Now
as I go through my day I feel like I’m stuck in that V-8 commercial from the 90’s; I’m constantly on walking on an angle trying
to make my way right-side-up. In the
commercial the characters would have a V-8 at the end and be able to walk
straight once again…unlike the commercial I am unable to have my cigarette in
order to stand normally again. If I didn't hate tomato juice so much I would just try the V-8…
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
A Compilation of the First Three Entries
Day Four
What happened to days One, Two and Three? I don’t even know; they are sort of a lip biting, teeth clenching, anxiety driven blur.
I decided to quit smoking on Monday of this week because I had a cough that I couldn’t shake for over a month now. It was a completely random decision and to tell you the truth I am kind of shocked with myself. I never really pictured myself being able to do this at all. Now that I’m four days in- well I’m still not sure but it seems slightly more feasible.
As a smoker, I always hated hearing the words “I’m quitting”. Anytime another friend or loved one would approach me and say those dreaded words I was always filled with anger and resentment. Horrible, I know. But that’s how I felt. Logically, I knew I should be happy for these people, proud of them for their efforts; but instead, the bile of the addiction had this nagging voice—scoffing at their ambition. Of course outwardly I would boast words of support and encouragement, because that is what a friend is supposed to do. But inwardly, oh inwardly I would fester in a shallow pool of jealously. I didn’t want to be the last one left in a cloud of smaze outside in the 20 below wind chills. I didn’t want to be the only one who had never even attempted leaving this habit behind.
With that said, I’m sure those of you who still smoke as you read this will hate me a little too. (And I can’t say that it isn’t a little deserved). The worst kind of former smoker is the kind that all of a sudden becomes a preachy, self-righteous know it all. Well it is day four, and it sucks and I don’t know nutten’. Suffice to say, that somehow writing about this makes the day a little easier.
When I’m not distracting myself with other things my belly goes to knots. It’s weird how when I go to leave the building I get excited (…ooh it’s time for a cigarette!) Then I realize, (oh yeah, I quit…fuck.) The disappointment manifests itself physically, as I can feel each vein, each vessel yearn for the nicotine.
It’s a WEEK!
So today is officially a full week without a cigarette. Last night I spent the evening among smoking friends. There was no talk of quitting until the smokers headed outside. As I watched them one by one light up, I popped a piece a gum and slowly in-haled the intoxicating 2nd hand fumes. For some reason I recalled my freshman year of college (perhaps because I was among my college friends.) Then, I would sleep with the window of my dorm room open. In the mornings, the smoke would slowly creep its way into my room and gently wake me tickling my nose. Once awake, I would find myself rushing outside- I was like a cartoon character floating on air being led by the nose to a freshly baked pie resting on the windowsill; those mornings I would hurriedly fly downstairs for my first delectable cigarette of the day. Now standing outside with my friends, the same ones I would usually see on those mornings the smell had transformed. Although still enticing, the smell had an undertone of staleness which I presume will only get stronger with time. As we stood around talking and smoking (and me not smoking)… the topic of quitting made its way to the floor and I just could not shut up about it. I could hear myself carry on and on and God was I annoying. But even though I whined at nauseum about wanting to smoke I managed to make it through the evening and resist temptation. (Even as I write this, I’m annoying me.)
Oddly enough, for as much as I am missing my daily dose of tobacco, it is future events that I look to and mourn. The idea of traveling without smoking is disheartening. Walking off-balance with a frozen hurricane in one hand and nothing in the other as I wander down Bourbon Street in New Orleans next month seems wrong.
I think about stresses that will arise in my life in the coming days and how it will be met. Any past stressful situation required a cigarette. It goes something like this…
Too much work- cigarette.
Make a mistake at work - cigarette.
Fight with the ‘rents- cigarette.
Fight with the boyfriend- cigarette.
Car Accident- cigarette…cigarette…cigarette.
And the pattern has emerged. I think about all the things I have faced throughout the years and if we were tune in for the instant replay, there would always a cigarette by my side, soothing me for a brief moment. I look to the future and I worry how to face adversity without the one constant that has been there for every dire situation since I was 15. Fortunately, I’ve chosen a particularly low-stress time to attempt this. I can only hope that nothing too taxing will arise in the coming weeks and months as I strive to conquer this vice.
Smoking is an expensive, controlling, hurtful bitch-goddess, and I miss her like hell.
Day 8
A friend of mine read some of my prior entries and encouraged me to start doing the blogging thing; it got me to thinking, why wouldn’t I? As we discussed the idea, I gave him a nice laundry list of excuses why I shouldn’t:
But at the heart of it all…what it all really boils down to is: will I stick
to it? Just as I’m afraid of whether or not I will commit myself to
writing these occasional entries, I am more afraid of whether or not I will be
able to truly commit myself to quitting. At this point in time I have yet
to tell anyone that I’ve quit apart from my fiancé and a small sampling of
friends.
Telling people raises the stakes. I always said that if I ever decided to quit I would wait at least a year before telling my mother. This woman has been hounding me to quit from the moment I admitted to her that I smoked, almost 14 years ago. It would be an ugly scenario indeed if I were to profess my commitment to quitting and then fall off the wagon. In fact I don’t even want most friends to know at this point, at least until things are pretty solidified. (Therefore, between friends and family in the dark, I don’t know who the hell is going to be reading this blog anyway.)
I remember about a year ago, a co-worker of mine decided to quit smoking. On the first day of her attempt she announced to the entire office that she was quitting. Further still, various members of our organization would come in to conduct business and she would tell each visitor of her ambitious objective. Maybe she felt she needed the extra encouragement from these random people. Maybe telling every person she came across exacted the necessary amount of pressure she needed to complete the process. Personally, I never understood this. I always thought, it’s SO early on, what if you don’t succeed? Then in one fell swoop, you have told everyone you ever knew that you quit and within just a few months there you are, smoking again. To me, the idea of making these grandiose proclamations requires the guarantee of some sort of follow-through which I just can't guarantee at this point. In the end, my co-worker actually did briefly relapse and went back to smoking for about 2 months. She then returned to using the patch and has been smoke-free since around January of this year. In round two, she again told several people she came across, (but she discussed it with far fewer than the year before.)
I don't know which is worse- the fear of failure or the fear of success...cause if I wasn't afraid of success wouldn't I have told people? Eh, well I guess I should leave that question up to the pycholomagists.
What happened to days One, Two and Three? I don’t even know; they are sort of a lip biting, teeth clenching, anxiety driven blur.
I decided to quit smoking on Monday of this week because I had a cough that I couldn’t shake for over a month now. It was a completely random decision and to tell you the truth I am kind of shocked with myself. I never really pictured myself being able to do this at all. Now that I’m four days in- well I’m still not sure but it seems slightly more feasible.
As a smoker, I always hated hearing the words “I’m quitting”. Anytime another friend or loved one would approach me and say those dreaded words I was always filled with anger and resentment. Horrible, I know. But that’s how I felt. Logically, I knew I should be happy for these people, proud of them for their efforts; but instead, the bile of the addiction had this nagging voice—scoffing at their ambition. Of course outwardly I would boast words of support and encouragement, because that is what a friend is supposed to do. But inwardly, oh inwardly I would fester in a shallow pool of jealously. I didn’t want to be the last one left in a cloud of smaze outside in the 20 below wind chills. I didn’t want to be the only one who had never even attempted leaving this habit behind.
With that said, I’m sure those of you who still smoke as you read this will hate me a little too. (And I can’t say that it isn’t a little deserved). The worst kind of former smoker is the kind that all of a sudden becomes a preachy, self-righteous know it all. Well it is day four, and it sucks and I don’t know nutten’. Suffice to say, that somehow writing about this makes the day a little easier.
When I’m not distracting myself with other things my belly goes to knots. It’s weird how when I go to leave the building I get excited (…ooh it’s time for a cigarette!) Then I realize, (oh yeah, I quit…fuck.) The disappointment manifests itself physically, as I can feel each vein, each vessel yearn for the nicotine.
It’s a WEEK!
So today is officially a full week without a cigarette. Last night I spent the evening among smoking friends. There was no talk of quitting until the smokers headed outside. As I watched them one by one light up, I popped a piece a gum and slowly in-haled the intoxicating 2nd hand fumes. For some reason I recalled my freshman year of college (perhaps because I was among my college friends.) Then, I would sleep with the window of my dorm room open. In the mornings, the smoke would slowly creep its way into my room and gently wake me tickling my nose. Once awake, I would find myself rushing outside- I was like a cartoon character floating on air being led by the nose to a freshly baked pie resting on the windowsill; those mornings I would hurriedly fly downstairs for my first delectable cigarette of the day. Now standing outside with my friends, the same ones I would usually see on those mornings the smell had transformed. Although still enticing, the smell had an undertone of staleness which I presume will only get stronger with time. As we stood around talking and smoking (and me not smoking)… the topic of quitting made its way to the floor and I just could not shut up about it. I could hear myself carry on and on and God was I annoying. But even though I whined at nauseum about wanting to smoke I managed to make it through the evening and resist temptation. (Even as I write this, I’m annoying me.)
Oddly enough, for as much as I am missing my daily dose of tobacco, it is future events that I look to and mourn. The idea of traveling without smoking is disheartening. Walking off-balance with a frozen hurricane in one hand and nothing in the other as I wander down Bourbon Street in New Orleans next month seems wrong.
I think about stresses that will arise in my life in the coming days and how it will be met. Any past stressful situation required a cigarette. It goes something like this…
Too much work- cigarette.
Make a mistake at work - cigarette.
Fight with the ‘rents- cigarette.
Fight with the boyfriend- cigarette.
Car Accident- cigarette…cigarette…cigarette.
And the pattern has emerged. I think about all the things I have faced throughout the years and if we were tune in for the instant replay, there would always a cigarette by my side, soothing me for a brief moment. I look to the future and I worry how to face adversity without the one constant that has been there for every dire situation since I was 15. Fortunately, I’ve chosen a particularly low-stress time to attempt this. I can only hope that nothing too taxing will arise in the coming weeks and months as I strive to conquer this vice.
Smoking is an expensive, controlling, hurtful bitch-goddess, and I miss her like hell.
Day 8
A friend of mine read some of my prior entries and encouraged me to start doing the blogging thing; it got me to thinking, why wouldn’t I? As we discussed the idea, I gave him a nice laundry list of excuses why I shouldn’t:
I don’t really consider myself a
writer
I’m lazy
Blogs can really suck…
Etc.
Telling people raises the stakes. I always said that if I ever decided to quit I would wait at least a year before telling my mother. This woman has been hounding me to quit from the moment I admitted to her that I smoked, almost 14 years ago. It would be an ugly scenario indeed if I were to profess my commitment to quitting and then fall off the wagon. In fact I don’t even want most friends to know at this point, at least until things are pretty solidified. (Therefore, between friends and family in the dark, I don’t know who the hell is going to be reading this blog anyway.)
I remember about a year ago, a co-worker of mine decided to quit smoking. On the first day of her attempt she announced to the entire office that she was quitting. Further still, various members of our organization would come in to conduct business and she would tell each visitor of her ambitious objective. Maybe she felt she needed the extra encouragement from these random people. Maybe telling every person she came across exacted the necessary amount of pressure she needed to complete the process. Personally, I never understood this. I always thought, it’s SO early on, what if you don’t succeed? Then in one fell swoop, you have told everyone you ever knew that you quit and within just a few months there you are, smoking again. To me, the idea of making these grandiose proclamations requires the guarantee of some sort of follow-through which I just can't guarantee at this point. In the end, my co-worker actually did briefly relapse and went back to smoking for about 2 months. She then returned to using the patch and has been smoke-free since around January of this year. In round two, she again told several people she came across, (but she discussed it with far fewer than the year before.)
I don't know which is worse- the fear of failure or the fear of success...cause if I wasn't afraid of success wouldn't I have told people? Eh, well I guess I should leave that question up to the pycholomagists.
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