27 days, 16 hours, 7 minutes since my last cigarette.
Is it fair to count EVERYTHING as a little win – or am I just giving myself a bunch of “participation trophies”? I went through half my life assuming there were way more smokers than there actually are. Shit, was I wrong. How was I so stupid to fall into the stupid category? I wanted to write this funny, witty blog about the humor in quitting smoking and how I’m strong enough to laugh the tough times away – but I’m still a cranky withdrawing bitch who is on the mood swing roller coaster of a lifetime.
I feel like I should come with a warning label – “warning, just quit smoking – bumps ahead.” I haven’t written, because I’ve had nothing to say. Between spazzing out on everyone I know, crying at literally everything, and trying to keep myself busy enough to get a MOMENT of solace from thinking about cigarettes, the last thing on my mind has been to write.
I’ve been going over and over in my head why I’M a smoker. I have plenty of friends who have tried cigarettes and thought they were gross – but can still smoke the occasional drunk cigarette without getting hooked. Fuck them. So, why me? I’m healthy, active, care about my body, have a level head (sometimes), but I’m still a smoker. I can only think of one reason – I’ve been brainwashed.
I remember my very first cigarette, I liked it and hated it at the same time. It tasted so gross, but my head was light and spinning and the cool girls were telling me I was a natural. The girl who gave me my first cigarette – I haven’t spoken with her in 13 years, but I will NEVER forget her name. “Do you smoke?” No, I think, “yes” I reply. Mistake number one. We were standing outside the Teen Center – the Friday night dance club for preteens, shivering with no coats on because it wasn’t cool to wear a coat in the winter… apparently you could burn calories by shivering. “Do you want another one?” No, I think, “yes” I reply. Mistake number two. It was all down hill from there.
But about that brainwash thing… when you’re 14 years old, having your first cigarettes, you have to LEARN to smoke. Learn how to take a puff without choking, learn how to hold them without getting ash all over yourself, learn how to buy them without getting caught, learn how to not smell like them when you get home. I was learning how to kill myself. Why, as 14 year old girls, did we think that smoking would make us cool and mature? Why did I WANT to learn how to smoke? I knew already how bad they were for me. Maybe I thought, “I’ll never get hooked.” Lol – that turned out real great, self.
For 14 years I’ve been filling the pockets of the same people trying to kill me. Who does that? For the small fee of $10.20 you can buy 20 sticks of cancer – wow, sounds like a good deal! So back to those little wins – got drunk this weekend, didn’t buy a pack of cigarettes – fist pump for me. Went to the gas station and bought only gas this morning – fist pump and $10 in my pocket for me. Dad bought an ecig and started using it this weekend – BIGGEST WIN YET. It’s funny how I can do something so bad for myself, and look past the negative side effects – but watching someone I love do the same thing breaks my heart. Maybe he feels the same way about me? Probably.
So I’ve decided there are way cooler ways to die then smoking. I took my first trapeze class the other day – “Here she lies – bad ass who fell off her trapeze.” Not, “Here she lies – fucking moron who let cigarettes own her.” It’s hard – it’s seriously fucking hard – but at least it’s happening.