I’m Done. I Give Up. I Quit. For Good.

No, I won't be back this time.

At the start of 2010 I formulated a list of things of things I wished to complete in order to find a higher plain of happiness within myself.  These were by no means groundbreakers as far as goals go. Basically, all I set out to do throughout the year was tend to all of those little things, and there was a lot of them, that conspired in their evil little ways to erode bits & pieces of my self confidence. Amongst other things, I removed a cysty looking thingo that I’d found under my left eye, I finally found a decent bloody hairdresser after 3.5 years of fruitless searching, I had a badly broken incisor porcelain capped 4 years after 3 wannabe’s tried to relieve me of my possessions in South Melbourne one Sunday night: all little things that were adding up to one big thing, at least in my head.  The big thing on my list, however, was that I was finally going to kick my addiction to nicotine after several half arsed attempts that I was never really ready for.  I had resolved that I was indeed ready to quit smoking cigarettes at some point during 2010 & did so at the end of May with the aid of Champix, a prescription pill that, I believe, protects receptors in the brain from the effects of nicotine, thereby ensuring there are next to no cravings after that last fag has been stubbed.  I stopped biting my fingernails whilst on the medication, also.  I didn’t realize I had done so until about 2 weeks into the 4 week course.

Throughout June, July, August & September, I didn’t have one cigarette.  I didn’t feel like one; any craving was as easily dismissed as if I were shelling a pea, I wasn’t at all tempted. I just didn’t have any inclination to smoke. I thought about it, though, in a curious sort of way in that I would see people smoking in the street & think, “that was me not so long ago, I wonder what it’s like for them,” but I was comfortable & confident that I had extinguished my last cigarette a good while beforehand.                                           Come to to the first week of October & all of that fell apart.  I have no fucking idea how, it just did.  How I let it fall apart is another thing I think about; I had honestly believed my constitution was strong enough not to submit to my addiction. Obviously it wasn’t.  I wasn’t just “scabbing” the odd cigarette here & there: I went straight back into my packet a day habit.  Also, I didn’t start off smoking a lower milligram cigarette; I was straight back into the Classic’s of Messrs Benson & Hedges – the lung busting 16mg jobs. No head spins, no coughing, nothing.  It was as if I’d never given up.

This being the case, though, I was determined to give them up in the early part of the new year.  Obviously, I wasn’t going to achieve everything on my little list, which was a bit disappointing, but I was still determined to get off the cigarettes.  If it was going to be 7 or so months after I had initially planned, then so be it – I was still going to do it.  I pulled out a calendar & scanned everything: my work dates, the silly season, the whole bit. Having taken everything I gleaned from that into consideration, I chose a quitting window of January 4 to 14.

I managed to stick to this plan: I had my last cigarette, (a “scabbed” one as I’d finished a packet a couple of hours earlier), at about 8pm last Friday night, the 14th.  I went to bed roughly 90 minutes later looking forward to tackling the next day as a non smoker.

And so, I now find myself on day 7 of being smoke free & I feel good; time isn’t standing still, I’m not staring into space with a mind occupied by nothing but having a cigarette, a waft of exhaled smoke in my vicinity doesn’t smell like roses, it just smells of what it is: cigarette smoke.  The smell doesn’t disgust me, though, like it does some non smokers & other reformed smokers – I just don’t think about it.  I couldn’t care for it either way; I just don’t want to smoke anymore.  It’s that simple.                                                           There are the detractors who put a bit of shit on me & tell me that I’ll fail & all of that jazz….those detractors are all smokers.  I interpret their cynicism to be the projection of their own insecurities that germinates from a thought of, “Oh, fuck.  You’re not leaving me, too, are you?” As I say, though, that’s just my interpretation.

This is it this time.  I am absolutely certain of that.  When I think about it some more, though, perhaps it’s wrong to think of previous attempts to quit as abject failures; I have learnt something from every single attempt, and I’m using what I have learnt during those experiences to my benefit this time around.

I don’t regret, even for a minute, ever being a smoker.  I am, and always have been, fully aware of its dangers, but I enjoyed it: I honestly enjoyed having a cigarette, especially after dinner. But I don’t enjoy it anymore, and I haven’t done for a long time now.  Now, I’m looking forward to day 8 as a non smoker.  Then day 9.  Then day 10….and so on.  I’m done.  I give up.  I quit.  For good.