I didn't realize it, but apparently I've quit a lot of things this year.
I quit my job, I quit every relationship ever, I quit being sane, I quit taking my meds that made me feel sane, I quit feeling insane, I quit living in the past, I quit drinking, and now, I'm in the process of quitting smoking.
So, I'm on day 3, right? The worst is almost over, from what I'm told. I feel like I've got more will than I ever had before, for some reason. Maybe it all just clicked in my brain. Well, it did, when I was smoke free for 4 days and all I could smell was indeed yucky cigarette stink. So, I left and as soon as I got in the car, I got all of these feels and I just wasn't in the mood for it, so instead of tossing the rest of the pack I had, I decided, well, why not one more? And one more turned into, well, you know. The thing is, the first one tasted incredibly awful. Like I had just rubber dirt in my mouth, or something. But, me being me, with a 7 hour drive ahead, blew through them until they tasted how they always tasted; never good, yet always somehow satisfying. Needless to say, I got home, I was smoke free for an entire work day and then I pussed out, again. So, me, knowing that I need this, actually wanting it, I call up my doctor and ask for some help. Wellbutrin. I was so damn weary. I've heard nothing but bad things about this medication, plus knowing my history with antidepressants, but I figure, what the hell?
And so it begins.
I fucked myself on this part. I really, really did, but that just proves to me that I can do this. I didn't properly wean myself from cigarettes. I smoked my normal half to full pack a day, right up til the day before I quit. So, as you can guess, day one? Hell. Complete and utter hell. So hellish that I had a panic attack at work, and kept crying for no reason at all, at various times of the day in various places. And this is when we couple Xanax and Wellbutrin. I found a balance, for that day anyhow and I made it through my day without collapsing.
Really, I'm great, I'm fine, until I get home. I walk in the house and I'm bombarded with clouds of stale smoke, courtesy of the upstairs. While I am trying to quit, they are paying no mind. I think this is making me even stronger and I think this is making me so much less likely to fuck up. Yes, it's hard, it's awful, it sucks so fucking much, but every time I think about sneaking up there and sneaking a smoke, or asking for one, I just breathe deep and I can smell it. I can feel what it feels like and I just go back to whatever I was doing.
Yesterday and today? Well, they've been spotty. I can definitely say that today was better than yesterday and I assume that, as I move forward it will continue to get better. I'm told that it's smooth sailing after tomorrow and I sure as hell hope so. Sure, I might be a little bit pissier or whatever, but that's only temporary. And as much as I keep saying this sucks this sucks this sucks, I'm really fucking stoked that I'm doing it. I'm really proud of myself for making it three days when I could barely ever make it 4 hours.
Suck it, Marb reds. I love you, but you are just no good for me. It's time for you to go.
