Ok, it’s official. Well, almost. I have 14 cigarettes left, and after they’re gone, I’m done. That should happen sometime tomorrow afternoon.
The withdrawl-induced freakout should commence roughly 24 hours after I smoke my last one. The longest I’ve been able to go before I start scouring every conceivable crevice for loose change is 48 hours.
So yeah… we’ll see how it goes this time.
I apologize in advance for the bitchy. But I’ve been smoking for 3 years, 3 months, and 3 days… it’s kind of poetic that I’ll be able to say that when anyone asks how long I smoked. I just don’t want to do it anymore, ya know?
Haha, nice. I had to type that last sentence twice to get “don’t” in there.
I can think of lots of reasons why I shouldn’t smoke- money, health, social pariah, etc.- but the bottom line is, idontwantit. I don’t want to worry about getting a pack when we’re running low on cash, I don’t want to always be the one who’s sneaking off to have a few puffs, and it would be nice if this yellow spot on the side of my right middle finger would go away.
Sooooo… the rest of this week should be interesting.
You’ve been part of my life for almost three years now. That first day, I didn’t realize how much I’d come to depend on you. At first, I was just using you to get through a rough time. When that rough time was finally over, I found that I still loved you. I loved you because you had been there for me through thick and thin. You weren’t just a crutch; you became a friend.
Everyone told me I had to give you up. That you were doing more harm than good. I knew that, but I wouldn’t listen to them. They didn’t realize that was what I wanted… a means to an end. I kept you around to spite them, but also because I had forgotten how to live without you. I didn’t want to live without you. You gave me a reason, an excuse. You gave me what I needed.
You’re killing me. Slowly. Every day, you steal more time from my life. I love you so much, but you repay me with poison. Why can’t you love me the way I love you?
I’ve thought about giving you up. Time and again, I’ve told myself that I need to be done with you. But I can’t do it. I can’t kick you out of my life as easily as I thought I could. I fear I’ll be stuck with you for the rest of my life, and that fear comforts me. If I didn’t have you, what else would I have?
Some days, I hate you. I hate the way you make me feel, and I hate that I’ve become a slave to you. But that hatred isn’t enough. You always make me come back, somehow. I can hear you screaming my name, and I can’t deny you. I need you.
I wonder sometimes if the sacrifice I’ve made for you will be worth it in the end. I remember what my life was like before you, and I want that back. Things weren’t as complicated before you came into my life. You’ve thrown me into an abyss, and both sides are equally hard to climb.
I could give you up, and live for many more years with an empty place where you used to be.
I could keep coming back to you, and have less time. But the time I had would be filled with contentment.
I don’t want that empty place. I want you, no matter what the cost.
And for now, that cost is $5 per pack. And higher insurance premiums.
I just have absolutely no desire to quit smoking.