I know, first-hand, the difficulty in quitting smoking. I am a smoker; I've smoked for twenty-six years. I cracked under peer pressure at the tender age of twelve. I will be forty this year. I've smoked cigarettes for over half my life.
I don't know how many times I've thrown out the ashtrays and vowed to quit. I've put on the patch several times; I've had four prescriptions for drugs that would supposedly help me stop smoking. The pull of the cigarette is stronger than my conviction to abstain from it.
Do I enjoy smoking? No. I loathe it. My mouth tastes like an ashtray. My nose is often stuffy and I have headaches. Ashtrays are filthy, stinky things. Smoke pollutes my house and the nicotine stains yellow everything inside it. My clothes and hair smell like smoke.
The honest truth is that I'm deeply ashamed of myself and guilt-ridden for this nasty habit that I can't seem to get out from under. I'm more concerned about the people around me than I am about myself. I'm worried for the health of my family members because of my habit.
I work in an office with about ten other people. None of them smoke. I don't want to admit my habit and draw as little attention to it as possible. I don't smoke when I'm at work. I wash my hands and comb out my hair when I get to the office, hoping to shed some of the smell. My pre-work smoke sticks to my coat, so I don't smell like smoke when I take it off. But summer will soon be here, and I won't be able to deflect the smell with outer wear.
Smoking makes me feel horrible. Cigarettes don't even taste good. I'm well aware of the health risks associated with smoking. The price of a pack of cigarettes is astronomical. There is nothing positive about being a smoker. So why can't I quit? I must be crazy. I appall myself.
Every time I finish a pack of cigarettes, I tell myself, "I won't buy any more cigarettes. This is it." But the pull of the cigarette is so strong that I find myself buying another pack, anyway.
When will it end? When I die? I don't want to become a negative statistic. I don't want to be the person whose lungs you can hear gurgling from across the room as I struggle to take a breath. I don't want to be the person dragging an oxygen tank around with me, tubes up my nose; but still lighting up.
I wish I knew the secret that has set so many other former smokers free.
I've set another quit date. I'm going to try to quit cold-turkey again. Maybe I'll make it this time.