| David's Story |
He Went Through Hell And Survived
I have been smoke-free for over six months. Each day I wake up, I still can't believe I might actually have done it. This miracle that has happened, and continues to happen each day that I don't light up, makes me feel just a little bit stronger, and a little bit more confident that I might actually do it for a lifetime.
I started smoking when I was 16. I smoked a few cigarettes a day, I then went on to college. In South Carolina the smokes were so cheap, they just about handed the cigarettes to us. I began smoking a pack a day, I was addicted as a person can get.
I simply could not function without cigarettes. If I couldn't have that first one in the morning with coffee, I'd go insane. I depended on cigarettes to study, to think, to organize my thoughts, to be creative, to meet deadlines, to be myself. I also depended on them to sort my feelings, cover my emotions, and make the world go away when the world was getting under my skin. Cigarettes were my best friend. They were always here when no one else was around. They would calm me down when I was stressed, pick me up when I was down, and share my happiness when things were good. I simply loved to smoke.
I turned 40 last spring, and thought about quitting the weed. I tried a dozen times to quit; the patch, tranquilizers, anti-depressants, cold turkey... I never made it over 2 days. I just could not imagine life without cigarettes, it was too frightening to imagine my whole life without my little friends.
The idea stuck in my head several days before New Years, and I thought about giving it another try. Sure I would fail, I thought, but "Why not try?" So I stayed up until 3 A.M. New Years eve, smoked a hundred cigarettes, and fell asleep. I woke up January 1st with a terrible headache and did not smoke, I was amazed.
The next day it hit me, I entered a nicotine withdrawal insanity that was nearly overpowering. I wanted to smoke almost every minute, every day. I could think of nothing else. I wore the patch, took the drugs (Welbutrin), sat and talked at mental health, sweated at the gym, and still thought I was going over the edge of human ability. Without a doubt, those first days were the most difficult days I have ever lived through, and the most mind-bending withdrawals I could have imagined.
Not in my wildest dreams would I have thought I had the power to get through those days and those days turned slowly into blessed weeks. But now, looking back, I did it! I cried, I shouted, I yelled at friends and family. I popped up in the middle of the night and jogged. I drove, drove, drove and forgot where I was going. Sometimes I slept until noon because I was just afraid to get up, for fear I would smoke and ruin the whole thing. I was sure this would all fail. But I told myself "Just get through this day dammit, or this hour, this minute! And it would pass, Wow! Not always as quickly as I wanted it to, but it would pass. Then that day would rest, and I would calm somewhat, amazing!
I worked out like a soldier in boot camp. I got to the gym at 6 AM (It had to be early, mornings were full of cravings), and after work too. I sweated and gasped, but the deep breathing fulfilled the smoking desire (no kidding!) I read magazines from cover to cover, soaking up every ad, every word, every color. It did the trick, and kept me sane. I could not let myself get bored, boredom is cigarettes smoking cousin, so boredom is now an enemy.
I reached out to family and friends, and they responded. Talking, complaining, walks, dinner, listening, and backrubs from my family helped relieve the tension. They really forgave me my impatience, scowling, and jumpiness. I drank water by the gallon, and ate food continuously.
Gummy fish by the bag, like the ones JC-Penney used to sell by the escalator, seemed to suppress my urges, so I just let myself have them. I felt it was important not to deprive myself, since I was giving up something so close to me. Trying to give up sweets at the same time just did not make sense. One demon at a time is enough for any human to tackle.
Today, over 6 months later, I may be able to draw a breath of relief, and look back at it all. The cravings are still present, but sometimes days apart, and certainly not as strong. I thank God for the breathing room I have today, I don't know if I could have lasted through any more strong withdrawals. The point is, "I did it! I am doing it!" My doctor said "You are one of the worst addicts I have ever seen." If this poor addict can quit, so can anyone.
I believe even the most miserably addicted can give quitting a try, you may surprise yourself. Now I wake up and take deep, satisfying breaths. I work out without gasping, I feel myself getting stronger. My skin is no longer pallid and grey. I feel so proud of this accomplishment. I went through hell and survived, now I know I can do anything!
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