I was just watching 28 Days with Sandra Bullock.  She wasn’t here with me on my couch mind you (I wish), but rather in the movie.  If you haven’t seen it, she’s a drunk and gets sent to rehab, and goes through the whole rehab thing.  The movie was actually very good, I really enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would.  Also, it showed that Sandra can in fact act.  Fairly well in fact.  Who’da thunk it.

The reason for the title of this post is that these people were all in rehab.  No drugs, no booze, not even caffeinated coffee.  But they could smoke.  Even the little convenience store at the clinic had cigarettes.  The whole movie is filled with scenes of them all smoking.  Bumming smokes.  Jonesing for smokes.  Even the counselors.  What the fuck?  Seriously…smoking I think should be higher on the list of things to keep them from using than say…caffeine.  So, for some reason, that kind of stuck with me…and I thought I’d give an update, partially for the few of you that remember my “new year’s resolution” to quit smoking (among other things) and, you know…care…but mostly for myself, to put out there into the world what the sitrep is.

There’s a power to putting things out there to people you don’t know personally, at least there is if you have a personality like mine.  You can say things amongst friends, people who have known you for years, and who, by mutual non-verbal agreement, forgive you your trespasses as you forgive theirs.  And that is why I never really quit smoking before.  Sure, I stopped for a time, but regression was easy because friends and family would understand.  And it’s not really a paradox…you would say “these people who care about you should be the ones who most want you to stop” and you’d be right on one level, but on another level, it’s because you are so close to people that it is more important for you to accept them, so you think, which is why it usually takes a major event to get friends and family to confront someone.  I know.  I had a…let’s say…less than sober mother.  And I wanted her to quit the booze, the smoking, the drugs, but at the end of the day, I didn’t want my mother to cry, so I accepted the way she lived her life.  And she would say she would quit, and go to rehab, or try to clean up, but at the end of the day, she didn’t want to do it, and she knew that her family would take her back and accept her.  And then at some point she died.  And when the call came late one night in 1998 my brother was on the phone, and he passed the phone to my stepmother, and she passed it to my dad, and by then I knew what the call was about, and I was honestly surprised that it had taken this long.  She was 47.

Anyway, I went a little off track, to illustrate that when it comes to addiction, I know what I’m talking about.  Been there.  And I know a little something about saying that you want to do something, and actually wanting to do it.  You have to really want it.  And you don’t understand that until you get to that point.  You can know that you are doing something that is killing you, as in, you know it like you know that there are 12 inches in a foot, and you can know that you should probably stop doing it, like you know that you should probably watch less TV, but if you are still doing it then you haven’t gotten to the place where you absolutely *want* to stop.

With smoking, I got to that place finally in late February.  That means I went 2 months past my “resolution” (which lasted till like January 4th) before I actually quit.

By about the last few weeks of February I was really just…sick.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  I wasn’t hacking and coughing, I wasn’t puking, but there was something really wrong with me.  Every day by the time I got home I had this gripping feeling in my chest.  Right side.  Pectoral region.  And I don’t mean how people describe heart attacks, like their chest was being squeezed in a vise, I mean it felt like there were extremely long, powerful fingers, reaching basically up from my chest and grabbing fingerholds at their outstretched limits, to the underside of my skin and muscles, and just pulling.  That was not pleasant.  And that wasn’t the worst of it.  Nor were the constant headaches.  Nor the inability to breathe at night or first thing in the morning.  The worst of it was the feeling I had when I sneezed or coughed.  I don’t know if I can properly describe it, but I’ll try.  It felt like something in my body was being shaken loose.  In my forearms and calves especially…it felt like…God I don’t even know.  Like some sort of wall of…something was shattering with the violence of a sneeze and travelling down my veins toward my hands and feet.  And folks…let me tell you…it’s the scariest fucking feeling.  Like…I don’t even know.  But it was traumatizing.  And after a few months of feeling like this…I wanted to quit.  I desired to not feel like that anymore and I wanted to quit.

So I did.

I was sitting here smoking, playing World of Warcraft, almost exactly in the same position I’m in this very second.  And I just paused, and kind of…felt my self…and it wasn’t right.  And I decided I wanted to quit.  So then I did the thing that I have done before, and what I’m sure many smokers like me have done.  I lit the ceremonial last smoke.  Planning to relish it.  I sparked the flint, the flame came up.  I liked to hold the flame below the cigarette and let the heat, rather than the direct flame light it.  Kept the charred taste away.  Big drag, but never an inhale on the first one.  Don’t know why, but I had always smoked like that.  Never inhaled on the first drag.  I drew in the first big draw, thinking “Enjoy this…it’s the last one”.  And right then, I caught myself thinking “Man…I wish the last one was the last one”.  And I exhaled.  And I looked at my cigarette.  And I said fuck this, and I put it out.  And that was it.  Haven’t had one since.

I don’t know the exact date of my last smoke, like some alcoholics do with drinks.  I just know that it was the first week of March because I was on vacation.  So it’s been about 6 months.  Now how am I feeling?  Well, there’s a noticeable difference.  First of all, almost immediately, I can breathe at night.  I used to keep a inhaler by the bed, hit it twice before bed, just so I could go to sleep.  It has been packed in my toiletries back since I was in New York in April.  The gripping fingers in the chest are gone.  Traces every so often, but not nearly as bad as they were.  And the totally freaky scare the shit out of me sneeze thing has disappeared.  I couldn’t be more enthused about that, because it was seriously scary.  In short…I feel a lot better overall.  Also, I don’t smell all the time.  When you smoke, no matter how much you shower, wash your clothes, wash your hair…brush your teeth…it doesn’t matter.  You always smell.  Because everything in your environment smells.  If you smoke in the house, it smells.  If you have a smoke before bed, the sheets smell.  If you smoke in the car, it smells.  When you come in from a smoke break, your office smells.  Also, the two fingers between which you hold your cigarette…something happens to the skin.  Something not so pretty.  That’s gone.  Oh…and I can smell and taste things again.  Always a plus.

The quitting wasn’t that hard.  Really.  I was on vacation, so I just didn’t go to the store, and didn’t go out on smoke breaks at work.  And after a day or so, I didn’t really want one.  At all.  The tests came and went.  First plane ride and trip to New York after quitting was tough.  I always smoked before boarding, and right after landing.  Before boarding because hey…I’d be damned if I were going to die in a plane crash without having had a good smoke.  And after landing to celebrate.  But not this time.  And I really hate travelling…I’m an angry flier.  So the stress was getting to me a little.  The trip was only a couple weeks after quitting, so I really got tossed right in the fire.  When I got to the hotel, I got put in a smoking room.  8th floor.  the smoking floor.  I had reserved non-smoking, but when they checked me in they put me in smoking.  Why?  Because I had been there like 20 times in the last year, so they were trying to be totally customer service.  I really appreciated that when I walked off the elevator and smelled the smoke all the way down the hall.  I tell you what, it was all I could do to not go down to the Stop and Shop and get a pack.  But I didn’t.  And when the hot bartender at the restaraunt across the street wanted to go out and have a smoke with me, I didn’t.  My ass.  I totally did.  but I didn’t smoke.  I just sat down next to her and talked to her while she smoked.  No big deal.  And the next trip was easier.  And the one after that even easier.  The first TheBitters Show was a test.  See, here in Florida we still let you smoke in bars.  And I was out drinking, watching the band, hanging with friends…no smoking.  At the end of the night I was asking anyone and everyone for a smoke, but they weren’t hearing it.  My friends had my back and didn’t give me any smokes.  The worst part about it was I wasn’t really craving a cigarette.  I didn’t even want it.  I don’t even know why I was asking for one.  Maybe to prove that I could still do it and the quit again.  Who knows.  I didn’t have one.  And I’ve been good to go ever since.

Now, the next problem.  Weight.  I wasn’t in great shape before.  But since I’ve quit smoking…+25 pounds.  Yeah.  I didn’t believe it myself.  But the scale doesn’t lie.  Damn scale.  Again…it’s like with the other thing.  Nobody I know has said “holy fuck man you’re getting fatter by the second!”.   It was the scale that told me.  I had to break down and buy clothes a few weeks ago.  Which means my professional wardrobe is limited to a few pairs of jeans and khakis…either way…it’s a sad state of affairs.  I don’t expect to get back to my college weight so to speak.  I don’t play sports year-round anymore.  But I expect to get back into shape for living.  And I’ve hit that place again…that place where I *want* to make a change.  After that…who knows…maybe I’ll get a social life.  Well, that would be Step 1:  Stop being such a dick to everyone.  Step 2: ???  Step 3: Social life.  Maybe I’m not ready for that.  But this seems like a year for rejuvenation for me, so I’ll keep you posted.