The Bitch At Home: Quitting the evil

I quit smoking about six years ago...

Aside from raising a teenaged daughter, it is, no question, the hardest thing I have ever done. I quit drinking and some other, more serious, addictions with less issue than I have had quitting.

And I'm still doing it - every.single.goddamn.day.

I started smoking when I was... well, I was really, really young. I mean, I was in the seventh grade.

Go on.

Do the math.

We'll wait.
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See? Unbelievably young.

See how cute I was? (No, not really me. Duh.)
You can see the full collection of Frieke Janssens' Smoking Kids HERE
Take a minute and admire all of the photos if you get a chance.

Both parents smoked. Dad was a Marlboro Reds man and mom was, I shit-you-not, a Benson & Hedges Ultra Light 100 Menthol gal.

Me?

I smoked both, equally. I alternated stealing packs. I went through about a pack every other week. I knew not to take the last pack or the first pack, and if it was desperate, I would swipe from open packs.

I smoked for years without an addiction. I remember the exact moment I realized that giving them up wasn't going to be as easy as I imagined. I was in high school and on my way to lunch and out of smokes. The usual place that teens could get away with buying them had been stung by the local PD, so they were out. I hit five different places trying to get a stupid pack of cigarettes and wasn't able to.
I didn't have anything to smoke.
No one I knew had any I could mooch.

I panicked.

THAT'S when it became clear I had an issue.

Of course, it was quite a few years before I got to the point I would quit.

Don't get me wrong - I quit when I was pregnant. Completely, totally, no issue. But I knew in my heart that as soon as the kid was out, I was lighting up. Maybe even in the hospital, or behind a dumpster with the IV pole hanging out with me. I didn't care. I missed smoking. I wanted it back. Like a bad boyfriend who smacked you around, but still brought chocolate and small presents. The one that only said 'I love you' when under duress or drunk.

Like that.

I actually lasted until she was about a month old and I went back to work. I didn't even BUY any. That's how I knew I wouldn't smoke.

Unfortunately, my work bestie, my boss and all of the asshats I worked with smoked, so it was approximately two hours back on the job before I had a Marlboro light to my lips.

I got up to almost a pack a day before I quit. And the only reason it wasn't more was because OldMan was somehow able to keep up with how much I was spending on cigarettes. I didn't want him to be completely disgusted with me, so I tried to keep it under control.

Cue Christmas six years ago:

I was on the back porch at OldMan's folks' place. My father-in-law (who I adore with all of my being. sometimes, I only stay married to OldMan in the hopes that he gets to be more like his dad...) liked to bum smokes from me when he thought he could get away with it. I always made sure to have at least one extra pack with me when we went to visit.

We were sitting, companionably quiet, smoking and drinking bourbon, just the two of us. I took a drag, drew it in, then coughed so much I thought I was going to die.

I spilled my bourbon.

That was the last straw. If there was anything I liked better than smoking, it was drinking. And the two together... well, if you've been there, you know.

There IS nothing better.

Nothing.

At any rate, I didn't feel great that trip, and I tried not to smoke too much when we were out there, anyway, because, while my father-in-law was all for it, my mother-in-law liked to give me dirty looks and make statements like "you smell like smoke" or "you know your daughter is watching you, right"? So, I kind of laid off for the night.

The next morning, I had one of those allergy-cold-black-death things going on, so, while I wanted to smoke like nobody's business, I knew if I did, I'd probably puke, so I just didn't.

Then, it's the drive home, and I'm sure not going to smoke in the car with LovelyGirl, plus OldMan was adamant that I couldn't smoke in his vehicle.

He's a dick like that.

When we got home, I did the calculations and discovered I hadn't smoked in about eighteen hours.

Huh.

What do you know about that?

It became a game for me. How long would I go before failing... again?

Turns out, I can go quite awhile.

I haven't had a cigarette since then.

Wait.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not bragging, really. I mean, I'm proud of it, but when I say it's the hardest thing I've ever done, that is not an exaggeration.

Every day is another challenge. When I was losing my mind at my job, when the boss had me in tears on the floor of my office, when I finally got the balls to walk away, when I'm stuck in this house with no one to talk to but the dog and the bird, every single time I get into my car, every drink I have, every time I finish eating, when I wake up, before I go to bed, when I'm waiting for LovelyGirl after school or after work, when I'm doing almost anything -

I still want to smoke.

I want to right now.

It's easier to ignore now than it was six, or even three years ago.

But it's still remarkably difficult. Only people who have quit smoking can understand. I've met drug addicts who gave up meth and cigarettes and maintain that the cigs were harder to get rid of.

I'll tell you that I had no idea how bad I smelled or what I was doing to myself. Obviously, I knew it was bad. I was formally educated by every pack of cigarettes that I purchased that smoking was going to kill me. I just didn't realize how serious they were about that shit.

Once I quit, I started noticing new smells that I had previously not been able to catch. Like people who smoke. That's a nasty smell, folks. No amount of perfume or Febreeze is going to cover it.

I could also breathe. Every winter, I would, no shit, get pneumonia. It was just a matter of course. I'd get sick, go to the doctor, get antibiotics, go home and have to use up half of my vacation time getting over it.

I don't get sick anymore.

And I don't smell bad. Er.. rather, I don't smell like a stale ashtray anymore. I probably still smell bad, but it's because I don't leave the house and am becoming more hermit-like every day.

My beard is coming along nicely.

And now, I've broken a nail typing out all of this bullshit that no one wants to hear about, so I'll wrap it up by saying -
If you smoke, stop. You'll feel better.

And you won't smell like shit all the time.

Not from smoking, anyway.