It’s like calm blankets of the death of nerve endings. It feels good but you know it’s bad.
It’s like eating what you want, when you want. It feels good but you know it’s bad.
It’s like being 15 forever. It feels good but you know it’s bad.
It’s like the ultimate procrastination station.
It’s like knowing you’re a disappointment to the rest of society which can go fuck itself.
It’s like being tied to a cement block that you are willingly allowing to drag you into the deep, dark depths of the Neva with a dead man’s game of roulette and chess blended – Rasputin is the undefeated champion.
Quitting those cigs is like….a fucking crick in the neck. It feels bad but you know it’s good to get it all out.
Quitting those cigs is…for the fifth time….a really annoying task that consumes all my thoughts and brain waves and
I’d rather try quitting again than wishing I could go home just to smoke one. After half a shift I seriously just think the words: All I Want To Do Is Go Smoke a Cigarette.
Every single time I would buy a pack – and it wasn’t like L&M or whatever cheapo shit – I was too fucking aware of the waste of money I was allowing. It was American Spirits ($6.89 at the corner store), so it’s possible they were a bit on the tastier side if that’s even a way to describe them. I feel wrong using the word taste in conjunction with cigarettes anymore.
Quitting is like coming to know myself again.
I’m so self conscious in general that I would be triply self conscious about smoking – too aware of myself in public..I would go to lengths to make sure the drifting smoke never wafted into faces. I was afraid to smell like them. When I quit and restarted I felt shame; Immense, gut-ripping shame. I would avoid certain stores so people who thought I had quit for good wouldn’t see me. I would avoid various encounters. I would find places to hide so I could smoke. I would make myself wait until I had a safe and secret place secured.
If I was smoking and walking to the road to check the mail I would make sure to hide the cig in my palm so passers by wouldn’t know.
When my grandmother was dying I went to visit her and family. I was so scared for them to know I smoked that I lathered tea tree oil all over me and was basically making myself insufferable to be around just because I was afraid they would judge me and say something.
This shit isn’t living!
Why do I actually enjoy smoking? Because I’ve seen it for 35 years all around me? Because my parents did it? Because I am willing to destroy myself? Why do I have such guilt for it?
Some of the ways in which I cope with this crap is by inhaling tea tree oil scents. I used to chew on toothpicks soaked in the stuff. I might do that again. If that isn’t around I take huge, multiple deep breaths in an attempt to override the nicfit.
I’ve tried cutting down by the hours, eventually smoking less and less but it always comes back to JUST QUITTING. Get it away. I smoked my last cigarette on Tuesday I think and I fucking want another one but no. No. No. No, god damn it.
Just quit, guys. No patch, no gum, no vapes, no nothing. If you’re going to quit just fucking quit. No one quits by continuing a little bit here n there. That’s called dragging that shit out. It’s called not really quitting. If lower and lower dosages work for you, that is awesome.
For me the issue is I love the act of smoking. Why must we quit the things we love?! Because I can watch the decline in my own oral health. I can feel my heart straining, especially after a day of heavy smoking. I can thinking of the $1200-1700 bucks I’ll save each year by not going to the store every other day for this dumb thing that I allow to kill me a little further.
For those of you watching someone going through this stage of cig recovery, let it be. Don’t rush someone, don’t fucking mention the word…and for the love of christ, don’t smoke inside when your loved one is trying really hard to quit. You signed up for getting rained on. Put a fucking hood on and go enjoy your cigarette away from me so I can recover in peace.