I quit smoking on November 20th, 2003. Since that day taken ten drags of a cigarette. I took two a few weeks ago, and then I smoked about half a fag a few hours ago. I just wanted to see if I could smoke again, and hate it. Sickening experiment, yes.
My hypothesis was in fact proven wrong.
And, oh God, it was wonderful.
I wasn't even CRAVING one at the time, I just wanted to do this little test of willpower. I was totally aware that this experiment could cost me my recovery from my addiction to cigarettes, but I wanted to see. The first few drags were amazing.
The feeling of the cigarette pressed between my lips. The smoke smoothly working its way down my throat into my lungs. Exhaling a beautiful cloud of blue smoke, dancing and twirling through the air above my head. The sound of the tobacco burning, inches from my nose, as I slowly dragged on the filter. The taste, the smell, it was so wonderful.
You can be sure that I remember WHY I quit, I know how terrible smoking is for me! I know how bad it smells and tastes and makes me look to others. I still remember all of the reasons why I quit, so I am definitely not going to start smoking again. Maybe just one every now and then when I REALLY need one. Spoken like a true addict I suppose. The cigarette is a powerful thing. A dangerous thing. Lightly dangling from my mouth was this creation greater than anything. With it I felt sexy, calm, stress-free, and grown up.
I felt like I was a self-sufficient and controlled human being for a few minutes while smoking. None of these feelings came as a perception of what the media says, or what friends said. I just felt SO good. I understand why smokers don't want to quit, or believe that they can't quit.
Cigarettes have minds of their own, and they possess those whom adhere to them. Smokers love cigarettes. They are IN LOVE with the cigarettes, they NEED the cigarettes to depend on. They feel like the cigarettes are CALLING to them, BEGGING them to smoke. It's a close and personal relationship.
How sick. How can something so small and fragile wield so much power over someone's mind and body? A tiny bit of dried leaves, wrapped loosely in a thin, delicate paper. I could snap it with minimal physical effort, destroy in with a few second submerged in water, there are a million simple techniques to crush that tiny cancer stick. Smokers can't explain why they love smoking. They say, "Oh it's a habit" or "I just like it."
Smokers KNOW why they smoke, and somewhere deep inside, they all WANT to quit. They KNOW the benefits of quitting. They know that they are being entirely driven by a tiny little figment. And no one likes to be controlled. But, they don't want to feel like they've dumped the cigarettes, and broken their little brown hearts. Like I said, it's a very close and comfortable relationship. You're killing it, and it's killing you. It's a mutual agreement. Like an easy suicide pact with a contract signed off with the flick of the Bic. You know what you want from it, and without asking, that little white stick gives you everything you need at that very moment. It's a complete psychological dependency, a complete physiological dependency, a complete addiction.
Smoking a cigarette should have maybe made me feel dirty, powerless, weak, and low. Smoking a cigarette made me feel strong and resilient and POWERFUL. It sends shivers up my body just thinking about the rush they give me. I love the cigarettes, but I cannot yield to them. Quitting was the hardest thing I've EVER had to do, and look now! I've cut down to one cigarette a month!
Maybe you're reading this and thinking that I'm nuts, or that I'm such an addict that I've gone over the edge and am crazy.
Or maybe you're a smoker, and you understand what I mean. When you see someone on television or in a movie lights a cigarette and you watch it.
And you want it.
This is when you know what I mean. Like sex, its something you feel like you can control, or at least something that you should be able to control.
It's that little stick of fire in your fingers. You could crush it with a quick snap of your fingers, but you don't want to. You love it, and you'd never do it wrong. You just wait for it to finish you off.