no more cigarettes #1

I have decided to document my journey in quitting cigarettes (for real this time) because maybe it will give me some accountability. On March 1st at 3:30, I smoked my last cigarette.

I decided to quit smoking because I preach a whole lot about self-compassion and self-love. However, how can I say that I love myself completely if I smoke a pack a day of cigarettes? For the past few months, I have felt shame every time I smoke a cigarette. Because I know better.

My dad’s friend died of lung cancer. Usually, death from lung cancer never affected my view of smoking because, “yeah, but it will never happen to me.” But what if it did happen to me? I would be embarrassed, and I would be really sad.

When I got clean, I was told not to quit, and I am happy that I didn’t quit. There were days that cigarettes kept me clean. I didn’t have any coping skills for intense emotions and cigarettes got me through some difficult times. However, now I do have coping skills for intense emotions.

You should know that I am using an e-cig with 16 mg of nicotine, so you can choose to discredit (or, not count) the time I have gone without cigarettes. However, when I was doing research about quitting smoking, I learned herehere  and here that my chances of being successful increase if I use “nicotine replacement therapy” (NRT). My hope is that every 30 days I will decrease the amount of nicotine in my e-cig by half.

So far, the experience is worse than I expected. I have the taste of cigarettes in my mouth constantly. I feel like I am in a hurry and I am very stressed out for no reason. I keep thinking to myself, “you deserve a cigarette.” This experience is very similar to quitting drugs. So, I am approaching it similarly. One hour at a time.

Today, I plan to deep clean my car and get rid of all my lighters. I have also decided to leave my wallet at home because I am a woman of impulse. I find that I really want people to be proud of me (I don’t think that’s a bad thing), and I really want people to feel bad for me (that’s kind of weird) because I’m suffering. Poor me.

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