I caved. Last Wednesday, I smoked a cigarette. I had been 14 days nicotine-free. It tasted terrible and it made me feel awful. Not only was there the guilt of having screwed up, but I felt physically ill. Nauseous and overtired. A weight crushing down on my brain just like depression. And I had poor sleep that night. I slept most of the day Thursday and am feeling much better today (Friday) — hence I am able to write this.
Sometimes you’ve gotta touch the stove again to realize that it’s hot. That’s what my doctor told me. So maybe this smoking relapse is a good thing. I won’t want another one because this one was so atrocious.
I find myself forgetting that I don’t actually smoke anymore. It used to be that when I finished a cup of coffee, I had a smoke on my patio. The end of a TV show was another trigger for smoke time. Get on or off the subway, time for a cig. Writing a great paragraph equaled a smoky treat. So did finishing a good meal.
No, no, no, no, no, no. I am a nonsmoker now.
When I walk down the street, I can smell smoke everywhere like a drug-sniffing dog. It still smells kind of sweet, but I’m guessing it will eventually take on a smell much like alcohol smells to me now — gross and potent.
I just moved on to the Step 2 patch in my quitting regimen, which has a lower dose of nicotine. I’ll have two weeks of Step 2 and then it’s on to two weeks of Step 3, the smallest dose. Then I’m finished with the program.
My doctor says that with each day it will get easier and easier. And he’s right. I don’t have the Herculean cravings I had when I first stopped. Now the cravings are more like fleeting, Lilliputian feelings.
It’s just the Pavlovian response that develops when a smoker gets addicted.
Today is my 23rd day of quitting smoking. I absolutely need to quit. For my personal health. For my family. For my oral hygiene. For my dating opportunities. I’ve been single for four years and I’m beginning to think it’s the smoking that is a turnoff for guys I go on dates with. My last boyfriend broke up with me because of smoking. Yet I still continued to smoke for four years.
I don’t feel physically addicted to nicotine anymore, save for the patch I change out on my arm every day.
I just celebrated six years of sobriety earlier this month and I got my sobriety coin last week. I’m feeling like I’m ready for my close-up.
Just don’t look at my teeth. They are a yellow mess. I see a whitening in my future. Maybe a couple months from now, I can smile wide with my pearly whites gleaming in the sunshine of summer.
Until then, if you’ll allow me to be a hippie for a second, in the words of The Grateful Dead, I’ll keep on “Keep on Truckin’.”
