Six Months of not Smoking
Addiction sucks. Actually, addiction isn't so bad … breaking up with addiction sucks.
Teresa and I started our last attempt to quit smoking on December 6th, 2002. It's been over six months and to the best of my memory neither of us have cheated. I think we can now officially say that we're ex-smokers.
I never truly understood what people meant when they say "Once an addict, always an addict." I think I have a little bit more of an idea now. Even after six months it's amazing how often something triggers my desire for a smoke, walking into someone's house who I haven't seen for a while, going to the airport, getting off a plane, certain bars, that elusive whiff of smoke as you walk past a door. It's never overwhelming, but it's also never far removed.
I didn't have a physiologically hard time quitting, but I was very attached to the ritual. I like smoking, I like being addicted to smoking. I just don't want to die of lung cancer and pay for the privilege. I like having something to fidget with, I like twirling the smoke in my mouth, I like the taste of smoke on Teresa's lips, I like the camaraderie amongst smokers, and I love the enforced breaks.
It's the breaks I miss the most. The "hey baby, wanna go smoke?" We never smoked inside, so every couple hours Teresa and I would end up outside talking. Often the five-minute smoke break would turn into an hour-long chat.
That's what I miss about addiction, that's what I miss about smoking.