Quitting smoking blog

Grea's sad, sad story

My mother started smoking at age 21 and subsequently became a chain-smoker. As a result I have been soaked in nicotine since conception. As a child I had a smokers cough and had to clear my throat regularly and I worried during school classes that teachers would think I was contradicting them ... "Australia was discovered by Captain Cook and ..." *AHEM!* ... that sort of thing.

After many years of berating Mum for smoking I took it up myself around age 14, hoping to become a bit less unpopular at school. The plan didn't work too well and I have now been a smoker for, well, a long time (without giving my age away).

Like many other smokers, I am a highly experienced quitter and I have quit hundreds of times—usually for periods between 10 minutes and 2 hours. I actually did quit properly from 2000 to 2002 but I then became addicted to nicotine gum to the extent that my jaw often felt as though I'd, well, spent time on the wrong side of town, if you get my gist.

The seven deadly tricks

Anyway, I'm trying again, this time taking a different tack. I have noticed that, after stopping the cigs, I go through definite emotional stages that inevitably lead me back to smoking again. It's as though nicotine has a mind of its own, and it will pull out every trick in the book to keep me from quitting. The stages go something like this:

Stage 1 - Temptation: Wouldn't it be lovely to have a ciggy after the meal / with a drink? Phooey! This giving up is for the birds. Life is there to be enjoyed!

Stage 2 - Discomfort: Ouch! My jaw hurts from all the nicotine gum / chewing gum (also substitute tooth rot, weight gain or tongue film from sweets or other oral fixation substitutes). The other, and probably worse, effect is a feel of emptiness—that something is missing. I can't hande this. I'll give up when I recover.

Stage 3 - Disorientation: I just can't concentrate. A ciggie should get me back on track. I'll have to give up later - this project is too important to mess up with this kind of disruption.

Stage 4 - Temper: Damn and blast! Come on you stupid people and stop hogging the footpath! Why do people insist on wasting my time with their crap? Get out of my way! Damn, I need a smoke to handle these bloody idiots!

Stage 5 - Insomnia: Arrrggghhhh! I can't sleep! Good lord, our ancestors used to sleep on the ground, if not quite happily, at least with good grace. Yet here I am lying on a bed that millions of people around the world would kill to sleep on. I can't stand this. I'm a mess. I need a cigarette - NOW!

Stage 6 - Depression: Everybody hates me. I'm ugly. I'm useless. I've wasted so many opportunities in my life. I just screw everything up. I'm no use to anybody. I'm a horrible, selfish person. I should do myself in. No-one will care. Since it doesn't matter if I live or die I might as well have a smoke.

Stage 7 - Complacency: Aw gee, just one won't hurt. I'm over the worst of it now. I can control this, no drama.

The quitting blog

So this is it ... my online journal of how the cigs (or lack of them) make me feel as I go. Hopefully it will last longer than one day ...

D and I are giving up together since it's so much harder to give up if one of us is still smoking. He is the only friend I have who smokes. We decided on today because D's stressful job finished on Saturday and we resolved to both give up on the Monday. It suits him too since he won't have much money coming in for a while. He only started smoking again 12 months ago, after have four years free of the killer weed.

When we first discussed quitting I said we should wait until after the festive season. But the festive season always drags on; there is always another party or dinner or drinks or whatever. Once again I was falling to the old trap of putting off quitting until "the right time".

The right time, of course, never comes so now is as good a time as any other. Since neither of us are very social animals we probably won't be partying much anyway.

My attempt to delay quitting until after the festive season brought to mind all those times I failed to give up in the past. So this time I have a new strategy. Instead of allowing myself to become so embroiled in my feelings I am going to "stand back" and effectively watch myself as a third person. I know many of the trappings so it's incredibly frustrating to be subject to them.

That's the logic of this blog. The idea is to track the feelings that not smoking induces in me. Even if I blunder (again) at least there could be something in it that could help someone else who's trying to give up.

Week 1

Monday, 12 Dec 05

My final cig was at 11.30 last night, standing outside my Dad's place, puffing away like a mad person. The smoke was nothing special, despite it's symbolic importance. It tasted like shit.

As usual, Day 1 of the-rest-of-my-life wasn't too bad; it's later on when the fetid excretions start hitting the fan.

I had a terrible sleep last night, perhaps as a combination of smoking my head off before bedtime as a last hurrah and worry about the impending battle with my lifelong addiction. I felt so trashed this morning that I had a full dex (see ADHD page on this site for more info).

I sent D an email, telling him of my first pangs, which happened after brekkie. It was a typical post-meal pang. The bastard hasn't replied. So much for mutual support. If he's still smoking I'm going to refuse to see him unless he does not smoke around me, has no smokes in the car, and does not smell of them.

Am I being a tyrannical bitch? Am I being too hard? No. It's just self-preservation. Hormonal middle-aged women who smoke are supposed to a high risk group, and I have a few things I'd like to achieve before I jump ship (from life).

My first pang was just after brekkie - the post-brekkie cig. I've had a a few pangs since here and there since but the nicotine gum and lozenges have helped me handle them easily.

It doesn't help that I'm at a super-boring stage of a major work project. Normally I would be up and down from my desk like a fiddler's elbow, hopping down to smoke every hour or so. It makes for a nice break from the tedium. I often get ideas as to better ways of doing things or remember something important during smoke breaks, so I might continue to wander around outside at morning and afternoon tea time to see if I can still enjoy those small bursts of lucidity.

As expected, I had a lot of nicotine gums and lozenges. My jaw is already feeling tender. I will have to start on the patches soon. The trouble is, what will I do with my mouth? Eating constantly makes you feel blah turns you into a blimp.

While things are going ok so far, I'm really scared of stages 5 and 6. Even if I get past the earlier stages the later ones will get me. The way it usually happens is that insomnia (Stage 5) softens me up for The Depression Stage. That 2am to 5am period is always the time when my brain starts going nutso if life isn't peachy.

Tuesday, 13 Dec 05

6.20pm, I cracked! I bought a packet of dark blue Holiday 20s. To be honest I considered scrapping this blog out of humiliation since my effort has been so paltry. It's especially embarrassing because I've told everyone at at work and my family that I was quitting. Not that it will surprise my family since they are used to me telling them that I will quit and then failing.

So, how did this happen? At several times during the day I felt really strong pangs. They arrived at the usual smoking times; morning tea, after lunch and afternoon tea.

The pangs came in the form of a promise - the promise of a good time. Each time I had a moment of uplift, knowing I had something to look forward to (ie. a cig). This was followed by the disappointment as the promise of pleasure was dashed on the rocks of austerity. Mum used to say that whenever she tried quitting she would feel like she had lost a friend.

The straw that broke the camel's back was realising that D was still smoking.

Another SMS from him today, saying he couldn't come over tonight and suggesting that we catch up on Friday night—ostensibly because of work. Given that he officially finished his job on Saturday it looks as though he's sure doing a lot of post-work unpaid overtime! A couple of evenings seems possible but all week? I dunno, maybe it's the withdrawals making me paranoid and suspicious.

However, in both yesterday's and today's SMSs I mentioned how I was going with quitting yet there was no mention of it from his end. Ominous? More like a dead giveaway.

I was banking on his support and the knowledge that he's out there still smoking while I'm struggling away brought out some childish, vengeful feelings in me - the "it's all your fault!" mentality. I wanted to smoke to make him feel guilty for letting me down. Of course hassling him won't help because, knowing D as I do, he would just dig in and resist my attempted "authority". It's probably best not to challenge him about it.

Or maybe that's wrong? Maybe yesterday's zero-tolerance approach would be better? If it means breaking-up, then tough. I can't afford to keep being weak about it.

Despite my vindictive feelings, technically speaking this is still a Stage 1 cave-in. Temptation. The promise of the ciggy "treat".

Once I started smoking the first rotten thing after 43 hours of non-smoking, I really noticed how awful it tasted - stale - as though it was an old butt picked up off the street (and yes, I've smoked them in desperation before - rolling the used tobacco in a Tally Ho). As with any deep addiction, these things can trawl you through the mud if you're not strong.

I am about to go to bed and have smoked 10 cigs. I have just torn up the remaining cigarettes in the pack and thrown them in the bin. Tomorrow is another day LOL

Wednesday, 14 Dec 05

Ah, I'm back to trawling through the muck. Situation normal. I dug the broken bits of cig out of my bin and I have been smoking numerous filterless cigarettes, each about a centimetre long (about 3 drags per mini-cigarette). I had one of them before work and about half a dozen since getting home.

My plentiful experience with joint butts—roaches to those in the know—as a callow (and sallow) youth helped me through this challenging exercise in degradation with only minimal burning of fingers. I suppose they all added up to around one or two cigs.

That's one too many, of course, but 19 better than usual. The buffer of these grotty little cig-bits has made today a doddle.

Someone asked me if I'd considered cutting back on the smokes to just a few a day instead of pigging out on them. No can do. Been there, done that. Like an alcoholic, one's too many and a hundred's not enough.

So tomorrow I return to zero-tolerance and, hopefully, will get this show back on on the road!

Thursday, 15 Dec 05

I woke up today feeling like something squishy that's been scooped out of a drain. It was early (for me) again - not long after 7am. I am not getting eight-hour sleeps. Is it the lack of cigs or because the sun is rising earlier now that we near the summer equinox?

Whatever, I got up, looked in the mirror, panicked at the horrid, gaunt creature that stared back at me and then went on with my morning pre-work routine.

It's when I'm tired that my brain's inability to process normal amounts of dopamine really messes me up (the ADHD thing). So I had a full dex tablet on the train and, of course, a Nicorette gum. I picked up my ritual wake-up cappuccino between Wynyard Station and work. It was at this point that I realised that I'd been struggling for breath all morning.

Sydney is known to be a highly "allergic city" with its unique blend of pollution and pollens. We have the highest rate of asthma in the world. So I always have to carry tissues with me. But today it was worse than usual. I suspect that my cilia, immobilised by smoke for so long, were starting to work again and sending up, er ... gunk to block my windpipe.

I hoped my breathing would improve once I got to work, away from the nasties in the air outside. At morning tea time my usual coffee shop was too busy (I hate queues) so I bought another cappuccino at morning tea time instead of my usual chai latte.

I also bought some hayfever tablets; my breathing still not right. All the time I was chomping on more nico gums and lozenges.

I soon found out that the pseudoephidrine in the hayfever tablet added to dex, caffeine and nicotine makes for a potent stimulant mix (partygoers take note). My heart started pounding and I was getting increasingly jittery.

So I've spent most of today in barely-controlled hyper drive. The good news is I haven't smoked and I can breathe properly again. The lesson learnt here is that if I'm going to have a hayfever tablet, skip the dex and coffee. Oh well, you can't try to overcome a 30+ year addiction and expect to get off scot-free.

I fished one 1cm ciggie segment out of my bin when I got home. A tea bag had made it a bit damp so I had to dry it carefully under a lighter in order to smoke it. That was my sum total of smoking today. Not a perfect effort, but not a godawful one either.

Work's having a swooshy Xmas party at the Intercontinental tomorrow (complete with exorbitant prices) and my skin looks like the moon, with one especially impressive mountain on my right cheek. My body is clearing out the toxins. Given all the crap I have put in my system over the years I expect that my body will be busy clearing out gunk for some time yet.

Friday, 16 Dec 05

Had a far better sleep last night and woke up feeling pretty good this morning. After brekkie I felt a ... presence ... in my chest which was soon brought up and put in the sink. It's the cilia again, back in action, doing what they do best—bringing up unwanted gunk from the lungs.

Work had their Xmas party which was all very pleasant and, even though I ended up mildly tipsy on red wine, it helped to be with non-smokers in a non-smoking environment. Still, throughout the day I had numerous pangs, despite the gums and lozenges. Again, the pangs aren't so much discomfort, but the feeling of desire and anticipation. Pretty sad when the biggest thing I look forward to is a cigarette!

It was stinking hot and humid so it was a real treat to be able to come home, close everything up, and put the aircon on for 20 mins to cool down my flat—without having to open the place up to let the cigarette smoke out first.

Earlier in the day I sent D an SMS requesting that he not smoke, not have smokes with him, and not to smell of it when he came over. I even said "pls". He was a good boy and did as he was told ... just. He admitted that he had only stopped smoking at 4.45pm and therefore had "given up" for approximately 3 hours. Woopy doo. Slack bastard. I knew he was being cagey during the week.

Despite his rhetoric about "it's just about making a decision not to smoke and sticking to it, he admitted that he would probably bot a smoke or two from his Liberal Party brother on Sunday, ironically, to help him cope with being in Adelaide for a christening, and stuck with his brother and his madly right-wing prig friends. So the illness provides the medicine.

Saturday, 17 Dec 05

This morning I was highly tempted. I was alone and thought, "Gee, I could easily just have some smokes today" and felt a thrill of pleasure. Then I realised that, if I did that, then I would have to confess my weakness in this blog. Then I figured that I could just lie or perhaps just skip one or two days of entries.

Then I decided that that was a cop-out and to do things right.

Maybe this blog is helping to keep me accountable? Or maybe this means I am a dodgy person who is only motivated to do the right thing when I think I'll get caught? I dunno, after watching American Psycho last night, maybe I'm getting too caught up in the dark undercurrents of human nature. Whatever, this illustrates how addiction can play merry hell with a person's character.

My next issue is working out how to get off the gum and lozenges and make the move to patches.

I think I've already said how I always have to be doing something with my mouth. Apparently Mum had this need too; oral fixation in Freudspeak. When I mentioned my need to always do things with my mouth to Paul, work's security officer, he couldn't stop smirking (and being sweet and innocent I naturally had no idea what he was smirking about). I'm sure he was thinking about the way I talk a lot ... um ...

The thing is, when I feel pangs—those promises of promised pleasure—having a lozenge or a gum makes an adequate, if not perfect, substitute for a cig. My mouth is happy. With patches, there are no such treats. Oh sure, I can have normal chewing gum or lollies, but they quickly put a heavy film on your tongue which, well, sucks (pun intended).

The other alternative—food—is a dangerous substitute unless I want a figure like Magda Szubanski (which is fine on her, but I am not a famous comedienne). Water is another possibility, but only as long as there there are available "facilities" nearby.

Oh gawd, I cracked again at 4.30pm *sigh*. This was a Stage 6 breakdown. After spending all morning trying not to have too many lozenges and gums (sick of the rotten things) I suddenly skipped Stages 2 to 5, and fell straight into a depressive Stage 6 state. This is especially a danger for me during very hot summer days like today. I don't tolerate heat that well and tend to hide at home.

I was feeling very lonely and decided to call J & K, who I hadn't seen for ages. Racked with withdrawals I found I was struggling to concentrate enough to take in what J was saying to me, and kept having to ask her to repeat herself. I also felt lost for words, as though I not only didn't have anything to say to her or anyone else, but couldn't get interested in what she or anyone else had to say.

After bumbling through the call I started feeling really isolated, alone. Lonely. Depressed. As I walked up King Street I felt completely unable to connect with anyone. My confidence was completely shot. It reminded me of how I felt around Xmas 2003 when I fell into a deep, nicotine-deprived hole (I made the image to the right at the time, which shows how depressed you can get with nicotine withdrawal) --»

Nicotine addiction is EVIL!

So after eating I bought a packet of smokes. As I smoked the first one I felt warm tingling in my lower legs. My mind soon cleared and I felt far more relaxed. After the second smoke started felling my social confidence slowly return.

Sill, I knew I was blowing it and decided to find one of the many beggars or drunks who haunt King Street and give away a packet of smokes for Xmas. It seemed better than throwing them in the bin. I walked up and down King Street twice trying to find a beggar, but to no avail. Honest to god, there's never a bloody drunk around when you need one! In the end I placed the pack on a bench where I'd seen drunks sit in the past.

I'd saved one more ciggie out of the pack which I smoked at home. After dinner I fished the butt out of the garbage bin (predictable or what?) and smoked it. At night I caught up with J & K at the Newtown RSL and saw a few bands, most notably Perry Keyes. I ended up mildly tipsy again and had the usual pangs, but managed to remain pure as the driven snow :)

Sunday, 18 Dec 05

This morning I started with patches.The trouble with patches is they fall off. The instructions say that you should not reapply patches if they come off because they won't stick a second time. Drawing on my vast experience of quitting I can truthfully say that I have never had a patch stay on throughout a tennis match.

Moving, stretching and, most of all, sweating inevitably dislodges the useless things. The manufacturers suggest that, if a patch falls off due to humidity etc, then you can either use adhesive tape to reapply it or put on a new patch (LOL! at $4 per patch? Nice try, guys).

1. Keep the empty patch packet after putting the patch on
2. Carry adhesive tape—bought from a chemist, not a hardware store—with you
3. Take the patch off before starting your activity (if it is sexual activity your partner should accept the loss of spontaneity is worth not getting mouthfuls of nicotine patch)
4. Do the exercise thang
5. Clean off the sweat and apply the patch to the same spot. Use adhesive tape to keep it on because even small amounts of post-exercise sweat kills a patch's sticky stuff. They appear to made, not for humans, but for wax dummies.

Actually, you should always do steps #1 and #2, sport or no sport.

The other hassle is deciding where to stick the patch. As you can see from the image to the right, the manufacturers make out that you have a host of places to stick patches. Yet, once you read the fine print, you find out that you can't stick patches on your breasts or any areas where the mobility of your body will loosen the patch. You can of course, stick the patches in a number of areas that are almost impossible to reach. It's limited.

Today I noticed that pangs with patches are a bit different. I had the feeling that something was missing. I felt a void ... and I'll give you one guess what was the only thing that could fill that vacuum and make me feel good.

Had lunch at a cafe and, after much struggle with myself, I decided to offer a smoker a dollar for a smoke. I asked one (rather handsome) guy and he said "Sure", as long as I was happy with a clove cigarette. Damn! A kretek wasn't any use! I then asked another guy and he said he'd just run out (mean bastard). Obviously it wasn't meant to be. I sat down again and behaved myself.

Later, as I was shopping I noticed that I had a foul, metallic taste in my mouth. It was the after-effect of having some normal sugar-based (not nicotine) chewing gum. Of course I knew that a ciggie would put it right. In the end I found Tic Tacs were the best solution; they're small and you don't have to chew them and strain your jaw muscles. They are one lolly that doesn't put that horrible sugar film on your tongue—as long as you don't pig out on them, of course.

Weekly summary

Week 2 -->