It’s been exactly 134 hours and 16 minutes since I smoked my last cigarette. I’m doing my best to get healthy after celebrating six years of sobriety. And I must say, this is exponentially harder than quitting drinking. And even harder because I am bipolar.
To make some Olympics analogies, If quitting drinking was like gliding onto the ice before your big figure skating routine, then quitting smoking is like performing a quadruple Salchow — one of the most difficult moves in the sport.
People with bipolar are two to three times more likely to smoke than the general population.
I used to smoke about a pack a day. Now I’m down to zero. I’m wearing a nicotine patch. It’s day six, and the craving is like extreme pangs of hunger. The pangs pass after 20 minutes or so, but occur often. I feel like Gollom in Lord of The Rings, except cigarettes are my “precious.”
I have three of them left in a pack that I can’t bring myself to throw away. Having them there — just in case — is somehow comforting. They’re stashed in a drawer. I think I already forgot which drawer I put them in.
My plan is to go on a diet just as soon as I quit smoking for good. Meanwhile, I’m having the urge to eat. And by eat, I mean junk food. Ice cream, pizza, mac & cheese. All things that are not good for me or my waistline. But it helps the cravings subside. I did cut down on sugar in my coffee — using Splenda instead.
But the only solace I have is the calm and comfort of sleep. It’s soothing.
I used to say after I quit drinking that smoking was my one vice, and “a guy’s gotta have one vice.” But the smoking is wreaking havoc on my teeth. I’ve had two teeth pulled (in the back of the mouth) in recent months, as well as two root canals. I thought it was the Lithium — which dries out your mouth — and certainly that is part of it, but really it’s the smoking that broke the camel’s back. Camel — that was my brand.
At this very moment I’m noticing that writing about it is actually cathartic.
I started smoking in 1999, while studying abroad in Madrid. Everyone smokes in Spain. I don’t know what it’s like now, but back then, people even smoked on subway platforms. There were cigarette machines at every bar and restaurant.
I hid my smoking for a long time. My host mom in Spain didn’t know. And later, when I got back to the States, my family did not know. For years, I was a secret smoker. I finally fessed up when I was having a panic attack on a visit to my sister’s on the occasion of the birth of my nephew. I was experiencing severe depression (not related to my nephew) and cigarettes helped me through it.
But I’m giving up that chemical crutch, and it’s for the better.
I’m looking forward to long airplane flights with Netflix and no discomfort. And extended play sessions with my nephew without being a bad influence. Even not waiting for the movie to be over so I can go out and smoke. I seriously would check the running times of movies so I would know how long I would have to wait to get out of the theatre and smoke.
Six days. I’ve had a good run and enjoyed smoking for the former part of my life. But with quitting, I’ve already gotten this far. I’m not going to screw up. It’s time to say goodbye to nicotine. Cigarettes, I bid you adieu.
