Total Pageviews

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

I am officially a non-smoker...

... well, almost, anyway.

For a long time I've been thinking about giving up cigarettes; as much as I enjoy smoking (and I most certainly do), I've decided - after much deliberation - to put the lighter away, throw the cigarettes into the bin and just stop. 

And that's what I did today: I've officially quit smoking.

Cigarettes, we've had a joyous time together, but enough is enough.

That's not to say I just woke up this morning, decided to stop and boom!, all my cravings just magically went out the door and was immediately transformed into a non-smoker. Not in the slightest. This was a planned and entirely deliberate - but also extremely private - decision that I made for myself. Throughout my long years of being a smoker, the compulsion to stop almost always found its way into my head; I'd always plan ahead to quit, but somehow just never did. "Ok, I'll stop on my birthday/on New Years Day/after exams/for Rosh haShanah/on Sunday morning/on Bastille Day/whenever the sun is shining." Quitting smoking, like expecting Godot to show up, seemed a very pleasant thing to plan for, but would never truly come to fruition.

Yes, I enjoyed smoking, but the long-term, negative effects of this pastime of mine were never lost on me; I knew I had to stop. I knew the odious repercussions that inevitably come attached with being smoker, and now, today, being a (somewhat) former smoker, I am not going to list those health problems here, primarily because, as a (somewhat) former smoker, I know there is nothing - NOTHING - more annoying than a non-smoker, former smoker or (somewhat) former smoker coming to a smoker in almost gleeful, smug, self-righteous pretend-concern and outlining those possible health repercussions of smoking. 

"Why do you smoke? Don't you know you can get lung cancer? Or emphysema? Or throat cancer? Or tongue cancer? Or mouth cancer? Or esophageal cancer? Do you think you weren't loved enough as child? Is that why you started smoking? You really should try to stop. It's not good for you. Plus, you just burnt me with you cigarette."

No shit, Sherlock. I didn't know. Thanks for telling me.

(Also, at this point, let me just pause to apologize to the very many people I did indeed burn with my cigarettes over the years. I am profusely sorry. When you start smoking, you are welcome to attempt to return the favor - but as a former smoker, please note that I might just look at you with concern, and almost gleefully, smugly and self-righteously outline to you the possible health repercussions of smoking).

Yes, it can be annoying when others try to force it upon a smoker that he/she should stop. 

Just don't.

If someone wants to stop smoking, or to attempt to stop smoking, it will be their decision that they will make on their own on their time. Just let them be. Hand them an ashtray and direct them to the smoking section, but please, curb the smoking-will-kill-you speeches.

We know.

But I digress. Back to the point.

Me: a non-smoker.

I started smoking when I was sixteen. Yes, people may say I was peer-pressured (I wasn't - although I was, at the time, dating a smoker, and this did directly contribute to my initial foray into the world of smoking); people may say I was trying to be cool (bullshit - I'm cool whether or not a delicious menthol cigarette is dangling from my lips and anyone who's met me can attest to this glorious fact); people may say I have an oral fixation (which, I admit, I do - just take a look at the dozens of chewed-up pen covers in my desk draw); or they may even say that I suffered from a lack of love in my childhood which caused me to turn to this awful habit (parents get the blame for a whole lot - but come on, blaming them for smoking? That's a tad bit unfair - and I'm all for blaming my parents for everything. Just not this. This was all me). 

The truth is, I started smoking because, plain and simple, I loved cigarettes. 

I love the smell of cigarette smoke.

I love the smell of a fresh pack of cigarettes.

I just love cigarettes.

Growing up, my maternal grandfather was a smoker, and there was nothing in the world I thought smelt better than the fragrant cigarette-y smell he left in his wake. Perhaps it is genetic: a disposition towards smoking, because I just loved, loved, loved the smell of cigarettes as a child. But then again, perhaps it's not genetic, because except for my grandfather, no one on my mother's side are smokers. At the end of the day, however, this is neither here nor there: the fact remains, I was attracted to the smell of cigarettes, and so, I think it was inevitable that I would eventually succumb to my fascination with the smell and resultantly become a smoker. Coupled with this was the whole romanticism of smoking; the idealism of the act: there is something very appealing about that slim, delicate stick hanging tantalizingly at the side of a mouth - my mouth. It made me feel grown-up and intelligent; after all, every writer smoked - didn't Hemmingway smoke? And what about Paul Sheldon of Stephen King's Misery, whose ritual of smoking only after completing a manuscript had managed to pique my adolescent, smoker-to-be imagination? Holding a lit cigarette and going through that ritual of Cigarette-to-mouth, Inhale, Deep, Exhale, Repeat, made me feel rebellious and smart, mysterious and cool all at once. As I continued smoking, I began to enjoy the taste of the tobacco - ascertaining which brands of cigarettes appealed to my taste-buds, and eventually settling on a preferred brand and flavor (I started out with Du Maurier regulars, then switched to Du Maurier menthols, then Benson & Hedges menthols, then finally choosing Dunhill menthols and Marlboro menthols as my preferred choices). Cigarettes were physically satisfying: the feel of the smoke entering my mouth and ever so slightly burning as I inhaled it into my throat and lungs brought me the most delicious feeling of marvelousness which can never be translated into words for the non-smoker to ever understand. The smell of the cigarette smoke - which had been my initial pull - became only part of my reason for falling in love with this delicious (and, admittedly, dangerous - but for reasons other than health, which I will elucidate on further) habit; now it was the taste, the feel and the look of the thing, and when something is so all-encompassingly satisfying, it becomes more than just an habit: it becomes something you depend upon.

As a (somewhat) former smoker, I think it necessary at this juncture to admit the most embarrassing thing of all, the real danger of my smoking: I became so dependent on cigarettes that, for the past twelve years, they governed my life.

You hear stories of people hooked on meth, cocaine, heroin and all these other drugs and you automatically think to yourself: can a person really become so addicted to something? I'm not at all equating my fixation on cigarettes with the horrors that drug addicts go through - but being a (somewhat) former smoker, I can, to some extent, understand why and how it is a person can become addicted to a substance (drugs, gambling, sex, food, etc., hell, we humans can get addicted to anything, really!); and I can understand, how, eventually, that thing can consume a person's life. Cigarettes may not be as harmful or as devestatingly addictive as drugs or alcohol, but it does cause a dependency which can be equally as controlling. The first thing I'd do most mornings is smoke; the last thing I'd do before bed was smoke. My days were filled with 3 minute slots of smoking where I'd manage to inhale just shy of full pack of 20's. If there was family around, I'd find ways to leave the house or to dismiss them in order to smoke (though my parents know I smoke, I've never had the balls to do so in front of them); I'd make up excuses to go outside, or go to the store - something, anything, just to get my cigarette to my lips. Cigarettes became more than just something I did to relax, or to unwind, or to just have a time-out: my days revolved around when I smoked. I smoked when I was bored, I smoked when I was having fun. I smoked when I drove, I smoked when I walked. I smoked when I was relaxed, I smoked when I was stressed. I smoked and I smoked and I smoked - every day, for twelve years, I consumed at least one cigarette. 

We are a fragile race, us humans; it is easy for us to fall into a routine, to develop habits... to become addicted. 

For less than a year, up until March of this year, I took ambien (the sleeping pill), at first infrequently, and then, almost every day. Ambien is marketed as a marvelous sleep aid (and it is, when used in the proper capacities): not particularly strong, it allows one to drift off to sleep, but doesn't knock one out with a punch that leaves one groggy and glassy-eyed the next day. Rather, ambien lulls a person to sleep and regulates sleep patterns. Much touted as a drug which one cannot become addicted to, ambien seems like the perfect sleep aid, almost too good to be true. And it is: seemingly perfect and almost, but not quite, good. You see, there is this tiny window of... opportunity, shall we call it?... where, after taking ambien, you can experience the most delicious high ever. At first, when I took ambien, I'd crawl straight into bed and did not know about the high as I'd just fall asleep. But one day after taking ambien, I didn't go under my covers; instead, I picked up my cigarettes (damn you, cigarettes!) and rather than falling asleep, I experienced the high of a lifetime (or at least my very sheltered lifetime): the ambien high. All inhibitions are lost: phone-calls are made (that you can't exactly remember doing the next day); emails are written (that you can't exactly remember doing the next day); Facebook statuses are updated (that you can't exactly remember the next day); a bottle of wine is finished (that you can't exactly remember doing the next day); pasta is eaten (that you can't exactly remember doing the next day) - wonderfully asinine things are done as the ambien magic grips you, causing you to drop all inhibitions in the moment, but bringing on a surge of powerful remorse the next day as you painfully (but not always) recollect the things you did the under before.

I became so entrenched in the routine of taking ambien - no longer to fall asleep, but now to experience this unnatural high. It became a routine for me, and nights when I didn't have any ambien felt wasted. As the days slipped into weeks, and then into months, I realized that I was addicted to the high; not to the ambien itself. While in normal doses ambien doesn't leave a person groggy, I was abusing it so frequently that my days would pass by like a dream. I read up on ambien addiction (yes, it is possible to become addicted - despite the manufacturers' grand claims otherwise) and I realized that I was possibly on my way to becoming an ambien addict. Ambien addicts are unable to fall asleep without ambien (I hadn't reached that level just yet, as I would manage to get to bed, even without the ambien and it's accompanying high), ambien addicts experience awful nightmares when they manage to sleep without it (I only, usually, have very pleasant dreams - unless, of course, I ate something particularly sour right before bed. One can never have pleasant dreams when one's stomach is churning), and, most importantly, ambien addicts experience painful withdrawals when they stay away from it (which I never experienced). Given that I'd experienced none of these things, I definitely was not (yet) an ambien addict.. Friends would joke and call me a junkie, and though I scoffed (and still scoff) at the idea, the truth is, I probably would have eventually ended up thus had I not gone to Israel in March and made the decision to go there sans ambien. I don't think the situation was that precarious, to be perfectly honest, because when I left Trinidad, I had no problems falling asleep, and, indeed, for the first few weeks, managed to regulate my sleep-cycle according to Israel time quite easily, waking up bright and early each day and going to bed at reasonable nightly hours. I didn't even think about ambien at all, and it was only when I returned home that it hit me: I didn't have any ambien for over six weeks, and you know what, Nick? - that's fine. But then my ultimate test came: I found an ambien the day after I returned, lurking ominously on my bedside table in an innocent clear white plastic bag. I was tempted to throw it away, but I wanted to see: was this really worth it? Was I really so enamored of the ambien high? I knew it was a dangerous game to play, but for old times sake, before bedtime, I popped it in my mouth and went through the old, familiar feeling of high. I very vaguely remember making phone calls whilst on this most recent binge, but when I woke up the next morning, I came to the final realization: I didn't need this. It was fun, yes, but it was keeping me back. The mortifying after-effect of cleaning up whatever uninhibited mess I'd made the night before (the odd Facebook statuses, the querulous emails, the ranting phone calls) coupled with that dazed feeling which accompanied me for most of the day absolutely and resolutely cut any and all desires I harbored for ambien.

I was completely, totally and utterly over my fascination with ambien. It was as simple as that, and though it's only been a little over six weeks since I stopped taking ambien regularly (and only a week and two days since I last sampled it), the end synopsis remains the same: ambien and I have parted ways and thankfully, it was a most amicable split.

After this epiphany, I began to reflect on the issue of addiction as a whole. True, I'm not and was not an actual ambien addict, but I found a tagline, which, to some may seem silly, but it's a mantra which I think is applicable in every potentially negative situation: Is it worth it? 

I've used this line on myself many times: when shopping for superfluous things, when gearing up for an argument, when pausing by KFC - I ask myself, "Is it worth it?", and more often than not, my mind answers me with a quiet "No", which, later on (provided I've listened to my mind), leads to me feeling very satisfied that I didn't waste money on unnecessary clothes, or waste an hour arguing, or gobble down the KFC that would automatically perch it's fatty self around my midsection.

Is it worth it?

Pretty simple.

Now, as you may have guessed, I do have a rather addictive personality, and there are many things which can hook me, be they ambien, cigarettes or the host of other (thankfully, non-substance) things, which I won't mention at this time to bore you with the trivialities of my life unconnected to this particular post. My little ditty of "Is it worth it?" worked with ambien, with shopping, with the associated fat which sneakily shadows the unhealthy foods I sometimes (ok, oftentimes) choose to eat...

... but what about the biggest addiction in my life: cigarettes?

Would my miracle cure of "Is it worth it?" work there, too?

Perhaps.

It's worth a try, isn't it?

Of course, I'm not puerile enough to think that this would be an addiction I can beat on my own with my little mantra. As powerful as "Is it worth it?" may have been to work at beating, curbing and preventing little hiccups (even a big hiccup like my ambien phase), with cigarettes I know I need something stronger and more powerful - because this addiction is not merely psychological like the others, there is also the tangible and very physical aspect of this addiction, that is to say, that all-consuming, powerful nicotine, which hooks the smoker and reels him in. Yes, "Is it worth it?" is going to play a part, but I need an accomplice.

Which brings me to today: May 22nd 2012 - today, I started the Nicoderm patch.

I am officially a non-smoker... well, almost anyway.

They say to get over any addiction, you need to get through the toughest hurdle: the first three days; and then, the second toughest hurdle: the ensuing three weeks. Get through those and everything will be easy as pie.

But then again, while you may overcome the addiction, you are, after all, still an addict. The temptation is still there and probably always will be. Which is why you have to keep reminding yourself why you chose to no longer indulge in your particular drug of choice.

My reasons are varied, and, admittedly, very cliche. In no particular order of importance, they are as follows:

1. Health reasons: I find my laugh to no longer be as easy as it once was. I have a smoker's laugh - there is rattling, throaty, wheezy sound which laces what used to be an easy, pleasant laugh. While I don't suffer from any sort of short-breath, I do notice that my chest seems congested and I am slightly phlegm-y at times in my lungs. My gums and lips have darkened as a result of my smoking as well, and while this is a purely cosmetic reason, I've grouped it in here, because, obviously, clearly, that is not good.

2. Smell: While I would probably always love the smell of cigarette smoke and cigarettes in general, I have to admit, I do not, under any circumstances, like the lingering smell of old cigarette smoke. I used to smoke in my room, but in 2010, I made the concerted effort to stop and haven't since done so. Cigarettes, when fresh, have a very appealing scent to my nostrils, but the the staleness of old cigarette smoke is not something I particularly like. The smoke clings to one's clothes, one's hair, one's body and to be perfectly frank, it's just gross. Of course, I still would kiss a smoker, and, would still very much enjoy kissing a smoker - but I'm tired of waking up with the taste of last night's cigarette's on my breath. I love when I don't drive my car for a couple days and it's been washed and there's no stale cigarette-y smell permeating the interior of my car - but I hate when I open the door and see those little specks of white cigarette ashes all over the place and am greeted with stale cigarette smell. I hate when I put my finger to my nose and am confronted by the smell of cigarettes.

3. Vanity: There are no visible wrinkles in my skin (fingers crossed!), but I know that a forgone conclusion for smokers is that one's skin ages prematurely. Not to mention, my right index fingernail has a yellowish tinge, which, I'm told is an indicator of a smoker. Furthermore, my teeth: while I do take care of them and don't have a smoker's smile, per se (thank you Crest Whitestrips!), my teeth aren't as brilliantly white as they used to be. 

4. Dependence: I hate being dependent on cigarettes. I hate that my days, studies, time spent with family, trips and everything else is governed by this all-consuming dependence on cigarettes. I want to be able to do what I want, when I want, without having to chaperone my addiction and need for cigarettes. "Is there a smoking section in that restaurant? No? Then I don't think I'll go." Enough. Stop governing my life, cigarettes.

5. Money: I waste copious amounts of money on cigarettes. Cigarettes, by themselves, are increasingly expensive, but whenever I go to fetch myself a pack, I never buy just a pack of cigarettes. I end up buying food, or snacks, or some other unnecessary something, which, in most instances, is just as unhealthy as the pack of cigarettes. 

I know it's important to keep reminding myself of these reasons, because even though it's been just a day, and even though I've plastered my Step1 Nicoderm patch onto my arm quite securely, I felt the desperate desire for a cigarette at various points throughout the day, which, when you think about it, goes to show that addiction (to substances) is never a purely physical thing, and needs to be worked at daily. 

But I managed to get through today - not easily, mind you - but I got through it. Every time I thought of putting a delicious cigarette to my mouth and lighting up, I kept thinking of my reasons for quitting and thinking to myself: "You've made it three/four/five/fifteen hours - do you really want to let go now? Is it worth it?" and I struggled through the minutes of craving and, surprise, surprise, it wasn't worth it anymore. 

Cigarettes: be gone.

Ok, truthfully, I don't know if I'll smoke in social settings. Perhaps I shouldn't, because if I have one, I'll probably want another, and then another, and then another, and then I'll end up buying a pack and smoking it on the way home, which would probably inevitably lead to having cigarettes at home, which would obviously mean that I would smoke at home, which would mean, ta da!, I would have defeated the purpose and would have fallen off the bandwagon. Look, I'm a realist. I know that if I drink, I'm probably going to want a cigarette. Does that mean I'll never drink again? Of course not. But at least for the eight weeks I'm on Step1 of my Nicoderm course, and then for the four weeks of the Step2 and Step3 phases, I will not be drinking since in my head drinking+cigarettes=completion... at least this is how I feel right now since I am not a former smoker just yet, but a (somewhat) former smoker. Ok, I know my birthday falls in the middle of all of this Nicoderm-ing, and I know I'll want to celebrate, but for now, I'll just say I'll drink moderately and, well, if it comes to smoking, I'll have my friends to pull me up by my britches, won't I?

Giving up smoking (as with quitting any addiction) means cutting the triggers which remind you of indulgence in cigarettes. Unfortunately for me, there are many, many, many triggers which set me off thinking about smoking. The trick that has worked for me (at least in my +24 hours of having quit smoking) is the constant repetition of: "Is it worth it?"

I didn't intend to publicize this decision of mine to quit smoking, because I felt if I fell off the bandwagon, it would be easy to not have anyone know and thus, judge me. But when I think about it carefully, I realize that publicizing it would work towards keeping me in line precisely for the reason that I wouldn't want to be judged as a failure.

So there you have it: I am a (somewhat) former smoker.

And yes, it's worth it.

Wish me luck.