as i leaned over the bathroom sink watching the brown mucus i had just coughed up swirl down the drain, i knew i had enough. i was going to quit smoking. and the world around me shuddered.
even on my best days as a smoker, i was bitchy. those closest to me were quite relieved and excited that i finally had decided to quit smoking but deep inside, i knew they were also concerned for their own safety. they loved me but they also loved their life, too.
we were entering into uncharted territory. they had seen the anger in me when i spent a year on steriods fighting my blood disorder. my husband was a bit panicky over what monster he would be living with when i gave up my nicotine. he knew some of my darkest moments on the prednisone -- shaking "the club" at another driver who cut me off in traffic with my window rolled down, cursing and shouting i was going to get out to kick his ass -- he was afraid. very afraid.
he also knew the edginess i felt when a nicotine fit brewed inside me. my addiction snarled until the demon could be satifisfied.
what was i doing? smoking in some perverse way was meaningful to me in ways that only other smokers can understand. it was part of me, my identity, my pleasure and my frustration. cigarettes stood by me when all others failed. when i needed it -- no matter day or time -- it was there.
how would i ever drink coffee or alcohol again? like chocolate and peanut butter, each tastes fine on its own; but paired together? yummy! my decision required more than simply cutting back on my trips to wawa.
ugh! i needed major changes in my life. never again would i light up as soon as i got in the car. no more coffee and cigarette in the morning to psyche myself up for the coming day. no more deep conversations over coffee and cigarettes with one of my best gal pals. no cloak of lighting a cigarette at the bar to mask my insecurities of the moment, to make me tough, to make me strong.
good goddess, this wasn't going to be easy.
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