A Small Victory: smoke v. me v. the world

smoke v. me v. the world

I thought the not smoking wasn't bothering me. It was a week yesterday and I was feeling pretty proud of myself last night, commenting on how I haven't killed anyone or broken anything or, even more likely, how my family hasn't beat the crap out of me.

I woke up today realizing that I am beyond agitated. Every little thing is bothering me. Every noise, every perceived slight, every idiot who barges into my office demanding that they drink my coffee without even a thanks. I am so agitated I can feel it in my nerves. My skin is crawling and I am about ready to combust. I just snapped at my kids for no reason other than I felt like snapping. I am impatient and short tempered and sarcastic. Like the usual me, only more of it.

The thing is, I do not want to smoke. Mentally, I crave it. I think about the inhaling and exhaling, the feel of the tar and nicotine searing my lungs, watching the smoke rise into the air. I think about the way a cigartette relieves my stress, even momentarily. But while my mind craves it, my body is rejecting the thought. This is the first time in all the times I have quit smoking that I am not physically craving a cigarette. I think about it. And when I think about actually reaching for a cigarette and lighting and inhaling, my stomach turns. It helps that the last cigarette I had before quitting made me sick. It was probably something I ate, but I associate it with the cigarette and that helps. It helps to feel wretchedly ill every time I think about smoking.

I've started to replace my emotional need for a cigarette with caffeine. This does not bode well for a person who was already drinking 8 12 oz. cups a day. This does not help my agitation or insomnia or tension. It doesn't make it easier to cut down on my road rage incidents or keep from hurling sporks at self-obsessed co-workers.

I am now hacking up a lung on an hourly basis as my body tries to rid itself of years of abuse. I can taste the nicotine as it makes its way up my throat and it makes me want to run to the store and strangle the woman behind the counter who promised me she would not sell me cigarettes ever again. I must resist. I will resist. I will prevail. Because no one believes I can do it. No one thinks I have the will power. So some day, some day soon, I will be standing on top of the pile of people I have run down in a fit of non-smoking rage, and I will call myself King of the Hill and I will smile smugly and say "I told you so" to no one in particular.

A Small Victory

smoke v. me v. the world

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