I am constantly hungry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My stomach is never full, I constantly need food, it is out of control.
My boss called me up today and told me this long convoluted story about how my blood cells have nicotine receptors on them, and that if I starve my body of nicotine long enough, they will snap off and I will start to smell nicotine coming out of my pores.
Awesome.
I still want to eat.
I am burning this sage candle in my room, so that I don't smell the old smoke smells, but it's like I can taste it. I feel like I've just become a vampire.
It makes sense. I cannot stop craving, I can smell and taste everything at a heightened state, I have more energy than I had before.
My chest really hurts, it is tight. My back too. My brain. My fucking lips, everything.
I should just go to bed and put myself out of my misery.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Fat
I think I am officially getting fat.
The rush of smells and tastes is overwhelming, but no matter how many peanuts or grapes I eat, no matter how many beers I drink, I still want a cigarette.
I didn't really get a craving today until I got home from work and began to relax.
Shit.
It's been 5 days. I am heavily invested into this but it's getting more and more difficult. I WANT to smoke. I WANT it. I am not disgusted by it, I'm not tired of it, I don't fucking care right now. All I want is a cigarette.
I am starting to date this guy and I really like him. He's everything I like, tall, handsome, intelligent, funny, nerdy, sexy, etc. He thinks I'm gorgeous, which means he has problems, but whatever, I like him. I told him I don't smoke, that I used to.
And now I have to hold true to that, because I like him.
Motherfucker.
Booze has replaced cigarettes.
I was less depressed today, which is good, but I'm still searching for something to fill the void. I talked to my friend who is giving his kidney away again, and I didn't freak out like I did yesterday. I was able to deal with him possibly dying on me without needing nicotine. I love him to death and really really want him to be ok, but it's not going to make me smoke.
OK, wine is almost gone.
My one consolation is that I don't always smell like cigarettes. I might get fat, but at least I don't smell like smoke.
I am going to go running tomorrow whether I want to or not. I refuse to gain weight, I refuse to become a fat slob.
Fuck me this is difficult.
The rush of smells and tastes is overwhelming, but no matter how many peanuts or grapes I eat, no matter how many beers I drink, I still want a cigarette.
I didn't really get a craving today until I got home from work and began to relax.
Shit.
It's been 5 days. I am heavily invested into this but it's getting more and more difficult. I WANT to smoke. I WANT it. I am not disgusted by it, I'm not tired of it, I don't fucking care right now. All I want is a cigarette.
I am starting to date this guy and I really like him. He's everything I like, tall, handsome, intelligent, funny, nerdy, sexy, etc. He thinks I'm gorgeous, which means he has problems, but whatever, I like him. I told him I don't smoke, that I used to.
And now I have to hold true to that, because I like him.
Motherfucker.
Booze has replaced cigarettes.
I was less depressed today, which is good, but I'm still searching for something to fill the void. I talked to my friend who is giving his kidney away again, and I didn't freak out like I did yesterday. I was able to deal with him possibly dying on me without needing nicotine. I love him to death and really really want him to be ok, but it's not going to make me smoke.
OK, wine is almost gone.
My one consolation is that I don't always smell like cigarettes. I might get fat, but at least I don't smell like smoke.
I am going to go running tomorrow whether I want to or not. I refuse to gain weight, I refuse to become a fat slob.
Fuck me this is difficult.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Worry
I just talked to a friend of mine, someone I am close to professionally and personally. We are of a similar mindset about life and I truly care for him. In one week he will be donating his kidney to his sister. He just told me he is getting his will together, having dinner with like every family member he knows, picking a health care proxy, etc. He is getting his affairs in order in case he dies.
I hung up the phone and the craving for a cigarette was too much to bear. I believe that this is my number one weak point: worry. I am so worried about him. And I want a cigarette so so fucking badly I could scream and pull out all my hair.
He's only 31, he should be fine, but you never fucking know with surgery. Oh god. And I know how busy he is, I know he won't be able to make time to see me, of all people, before he leaves. He's got about 500 other more important people in his life. But I wish I could just give him a hug before he goes, cause I'm freaking out right now.
DO NOT SMOKE.
DO NOT SMOKE.
One cigarette will hurt, it will be harmful, it will mean going back to a smoking way of life. I want to die right now the craving is so terrible.
I am going to walk outside, calm down, and pray to god that he is alright.
I hung up the phone and the craving for a cigarette was too much to bear. I believe that this is my number one weak point: worry. I am so worried about him. And I want a cigarette so so fucking badly I could scream and pull out all my hair.
He's only 31, he should be fine, but you never fucking know with surgery. Oh god. And I know how busy he is, I know he won't be able to make time to see me, of all people, before he leaves. He's got about 500 other more important people in his life. But I wish I could just give him a hug before he goes, cause I'm freaking out right now.
DO NOT SMOKE.
DO NOT SMOKE.
One cigarette will hurt, it will be harmful, it will mean going back to a smoking way of life. I want to die right now the craving is so terrible.
I am going to walk outside, calm down, and pray to god that he is alright.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Taste
Tastes are so much stronger already. I am hungry, meaning my stomach feels empty, but I can't actually stand the thought of eating. I had a salami sandwich for lunch and almost threw up at how sharp the salami tasted. Gross.
My shoulder keeps twitching.
I have loads of work to do but I just keep staring at the rain. I think maybe my head and throat hurt so much because of my ever-present allergies/sinus issues, not because of nicotine withdrawal.
OK, time to rally, put my cap on funny, buckle down, get some work done.
My shoulder keeps twitching.
I have loads of work to do but I just keep staring at the rain. I think maybe my head and throat hurt so much because of my ever-present allergies/sinus issues, not because of nicotine withdrawal.
OK, time to rally, put my cap on funny, buckle down, get some work done.
Day 3 (actually Day 2)
I stopped the nicotine patch after day 1, since it really wasn't the way for me to quit. How could I stop wanting to smoke a cigarette if I was still addicted to nicotine, if it was still in my system?
So, today is Day 3 technically, since I haven't had a cigarette since Saturday morning, but Day 2 in terms of breaking the nicotine cycle of pain and agony.
My boss is a dream. I told him this morning I was quitting and he freaked out. He smoked for something like 10 years, so he understands my pain and agony. He told me to do whatever I needed to do. Go for a drive, go outside, etc. I am off the hook for getting all my work done too. Not that I'm not going to work, but he won't get upset if I don't send an email or if I miss a phone call.
My throat seems like it's swelling up. It hurts, my head hurts, my tongue hurts, my eyeballs ache. My fingers - I can't seem to type as accurately as usual.
I cannot concentrate. This is the worst symptom, the strongest. I want to slam my head into my desk, black out, and wake up when it's all over.
I keep listening to this song:
The last time I listened to this song was when Goat Boy ripped my heart out of my chest with what seemed like his teeth.
The parallels to a breakup are really weird.
Lack of concentration. Physical and mental feelings of loneliness, despair, an aching hole in your existence. Not knowing what to do with yourself. Depression. Tears. Sad music. Anger.
I am currently rocking back and forth at my desk, staring into space, trying to stop my mind from racing and figure out what is next on my to-do list.
Fuck this sucks.
So, today is Day 3 technically, since I haven't had a cigarette since Saturday morning, but Day 2 in terms of breaking the nicotine cycle of pain and agony.
My boss is a dream. I told him this morning I was quitting and he freaked out. He smoked for something like 10 years, so he understands my pain and agony. He told me to do whatever I needed to do. Go for a drive, go outside, etc. I am off the hook for getting all my work done too. Not that I'm not going to work, but he won't get upset if I don't send an email or if I miss a phone call.
My throat seems like it's swelling up. It hurts, my head hurts, my tongue hurts, my eyeballs ache. My fingers - I can't seem to type as accurately as usual.
I cannot concentrate. This is the worst symptom, the strongest. I want to slam my head into my desk, black out, and wake up when it's all over.
I keep listening to this song:
The last time I listened to this song was when Goat Boy ripped my heart out of my chest with what seemed like his teeth.
The parallels to a breakup are really weird.
Lack of concentration. Physical and mental feelings of loneliness, despair, an aching hole in your existence. Not knowing what to do with yourself. Depression. Tears. Sad music. Anger.
I am currently rocking back and forth at my desk, staring into space, trying to stop my mind from racing and figure out what is next on my to-do list.
Fuck this sucks.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Day 1 - Part 2
I just told my brother he looks like a gay pirate and my mother that I was going to feed her congealed Miracle Whip. Lashing out at family and it's only been 4 hours.
Quitting is like a horrible breakup. The last time someone broke my heart, I sat alone in my room, face streaked with hours worth of tears, listening to "Putting the Damage On" by Tori Amos over and over. I was irritable, depressed, morose, misanthropic, lethargic...etc.
This is worse.
I keep remembering the good times. That guy, the one I just mentioned, we used to drive around for hours smoking and drinking coffee, or sitting in his room smoking, or drinking beer and smoking......my entire life for the past three years has been __________ + smoking.
A curious niggling thought is taking root at the back of my mind and slowly unwinding its tentacles, snaking them through my brain stem, down my spine, curling around my heart, pulling tighter and tighter by minuscule degrees.
If all goes as planned, I will never hold another cigarette. No, that's not true. I fully expect a relapse, but not within the next 30 days.
My idol is Clint Eastwood in Pale Rider. WTF does that have to do with smoking?
Everything.
My life is nothing but a sad realization right now that everything I thought smoking embodied is a lie. I thought it would set me apart, make me unique, be an outward expression of my inner rebellion, straining against the PC grasp of society on my life.
But, at the end of the day, I was just lying in bed sucking smoke down into my lungs with the desperation of any addict.
The Clint Eastwood ideal is never attainable, clearly.
I have told my immediate family about my quitting. Not for support but to warn them that I will not be myself for awhile. The future is wide open. It could be easy, I could be like Ewan MacGregor in Trainspotting, hallucinating babies and shitting my pants.
Off to a work event, at which I hope to remain evenly tempered and not imbibe too much in the alcohol.
Quitting is like a horrible breakup. The last time someone broke my heart, I sat alone in my room, face streaked with hours worth of tears, listening to "Putting the Damage On" by Tori Amos over and over. I was irritable, depressed, morose, misanthropic, lethargic...etc.
This is worse.
I keep remembering the good times. That guy, the one I just mentioned, we used to drive around for hours smoking and drinking coffee, or sitting in his room smoking, or drinking beer and smoking......my entire life for the past three years has been __________ + smoking.
A curious niggling thought is taking root at the back of my mind and slowly unwinding its tentacles, snaking them through my brain stem, down my spine, curling around my heart, pulling tighter and tighter by minuscule degrees.
If all goes as planned, I will never hold another cigarette. No, that's not true. I fully expect a relapse, but not within the next 30 days.
My idol is Clint Eastwood in Pale Rider. WTF does that have to do with smoking?
Everything.
My life is nothing but a sad realization right now that everything I thought smoking embodied is a lie. I thought it would set me apart, make me unique, be an outward expression of my inner rebellion, straining against the PC grasp of society on my life.
But, at the end of the day, I was just lying in bed sucking smoke down into my lungs with the desperation of any addict.
The Clint Eastwood ideal is never attainable, clearly.
I have told my immediate family about my quitting. Not for support but to warn them that I will not be myself for awhile. The future is wide open. It could be easy, I could be like Ewan MacGregor in Trainspotting, hallucinating babies and shitting my pants.
Off to a work event, at which I hope to remain evenly tempered and not imbibe too much in the alcohol.
Day 1
I just slapped the round, flesh-colored patch onto my lower back, not realizing it was covering up a mosquito bite. Shit.
23 hours and 45 minutes left until I can peel it off and scratch my back. Maybe the slow infusion of nicotine will destroy whatever it is in the mosquito bite that is making me itch.
I want a cigarette. Not really, but I do. I want to light it up and take a long, slow drag, feeling the burn in the back of my throat and the tightness in my chest. I want to taste the filter, ash all over my clothes, and breathe in some more smoke.
The change is that I no longer want to finish a cigarette. I start hating it after about 3 to 4 drags, but thinking about putting it out is ridiculous given the weighty cost of one tobacco stick here in NY state.
I haven't eaten yet today - I am deathly afraid of gaining weight. This shouldn't worry me, I'm not and never have been a stress eater. I eat when I'm happy, which I am not.
I actually started to cry in the shower. Yeah. I know. I am mourning my friend the cigarette and all the good times we've shared.
This blog, and its postings, may be trite, inane, cliched - I don't care. I feel the need to do something, anything, with my hands, my mind, my body, other than smoke. I want to be successful. I can't smoke, there is a patch pumping nicotine into my bloodstream, I don't want to overdose, I can't even pick up one of my cigars and smoke it because that it just ridiculous.
So here I am. Alone. Staring at the pretty black ashtray I bought in New Orleans last summer. It says "Bourbon Street". I love my ashtray. I love my gin and tonic lighter. I like the slightly spicy flavor in a Camel No. 9 cigarette. I hate menthols.
Accomplishment #1 - drinking a cup of coffee without a cigarette. The next challenge is to drive without a cigarette in my hand.
Wish me luck.
23 hours and 45 minutes left until I can peel it off and scratch my back. Maybe the slow infusion of nicotine will destroy whatever it is in the mosquito bite that is making me itch.
I want a cigarette. Not really, but I do. I want to light it up and take a long, slow drag, feeling the burn in the back of my throat and the tightness in my chest. I want to taste the filter, ash all over my clothes, and breathe in some more smoke.
The change is that I no longer want to finish a cigarette. I start hating it after about 3 to 4 drags, but thinking about putting it out is ridiculous given the weighty cost of one tobacco stick here in NY state.
I haven't eaten yet today - I am deathly afraid of gaining weight. This shouldn't worry me, I'm not and never have been a stress eater. I eat when I'm happy, which I am not.
I actually started to cry in the shower. Yeah. I know. I am mourning my friend the cigarette and all the good times we've shared.
This blog, and its postings, may be trite, inane, cliched - I don't care. I feel the need to do something, anything, with my hands, my mind, my body, other than smoke. I want to be successful. I can't smoke, there is a patch pumping nicotine into my bloodstream, I don't want to overdose, I can't even pick up one of my cigars and smoke it because that it just ridiculous.
So here I am. Alone. Staring at the pretty black ashtray I bought in New Orleans last summer. It says "Bourbon Street". I love my ashtray. I love my gin and tonic lighter. I like the slightly spicy flavor in a Camel No. 9 cigarette. I hate menthols.
Accomplishment #1 - drinking a cup of coffee without a cigarette. The next challenge is to drive without a cigarette in my hand.
Wish me luck.
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