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 2
nd 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.
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.
