Stopping has been hard. Because well, it's hard. The hard parts for me are many. First, I really, really love to smoke. I love the business of popping open the box, getting situated, snapping my lighter. I especially love to smoke on cold days when it looks like I'm exhaling smoke for forever. I love that first rush of nicotine in the morning with my first cigarette. Sitting out on the front step with my coffee and my smokes, watching the world go by.
I like how it gives me something to look forward to, a little break. It's something I do that gives me time just for me, doing something only I like to do.
I like it so much I crept up to fifteen a day. And at $6 a pack I can't afford, financially or healthwise, to keep smoking.
But, oh, I miss it.
Some of the stuff I've been doing has helped. I set up all the farming games on Facebook so that I had to check every 45 minutes otherwise my crops would wither. I got a big canvas and started a new painting. I got myself into my retro housewife get-up complete with pin curls and lipstick and cleaned until rooms sparkled. When I went out I'd get on some cute outfit I didn't want to mess up with smoke. I put on lipstick.
It's scary, starting another week where I know I'm going to be in situations where I'm going to want a puff to get me through. Part of me says I'm an adult and I should be able to smoke if I want to. Another voice says I'm weak and a loser. Yet another voice tells me to tell everyone 'fuck it, I don't care what you think' and buy cigarettes.