If what they say about smoking being a low-class addiction, growing up dirt poor in the South, becoming a smoker was almost inevitable, I suppose. I was surrounded by it from birth -- I have no doubt that the doctor who delivered me probably did so one-armed, with one hand waiting for my release from the womb and the other holding a cigarette. My mother smoked, my brother started before he'd hit puberty, and my sister followed soon thereafter in her teens, so it was borderline miraculous that I was able to avoid it as long as I did. I'd picked up one now and again during college, but -- for the most part -- I saw the addiction as representative of the impoverishment and weak-willed nature of the schlubs who lived in my neighborhood, the kind of folks I was determined not to be.
In Hollywood, of course, smokers are depicted as aloof introverts with squinted eyes and a brazen coolness, who are often novelists or PI's whose sex appeals somehow exudes through the fog of smoke. In reality, however, smokers are more often than not the mullet-wearing and the obese, who manage to suck down Winston's in the walk between their beat-up 20-year-old Escorts and the door to Taco Bell, where they will gobble down the day's maximum recommended calories in one sitting before rushing back out into 90 degree temperatures to wash their Big Beef Nacho Supremes down with another cigarette. Indeed, for many people, a simple trip to the Wal-Mart parking lot of any small-town American town ought to be enough to turn you off of Virginia Slims forever. Repulsion therapy, unfortunately, rarely works, however.
As for myself, I never really got into smoking until my first-year of law school; and I'd like to say it was the stress that drove me to nicotine, but it really had nothing to do with it. For me, it was the fact that the smokers in my law school were the antithesis of the future corporate drones who wore Polo shirts and khakis and talked fondly of tax law. Cigarettes provided an "in" to the fringes of law school, where I longed to be. It was never really about peer pressure or even approval, it was more about finding an excuse to huddle with the other smokers, who seemed to have a like-minded fondness for anything that didn't pertain to the law. In fact, it took me a few weeks to even get into smoking; I'd buy a pack and struggle through, giddily anticipating the addiction because, without it, I saw nothing otherwise appealing about ingesting a lungful of smoke and then blowing it out into the atmosphere. And I sure as hell never felt cool doing it.
But, the addiction did eventually take hold, and over the upcoming months, smoking became less and less a group activity, and a more singular need. Certainly, a Marlboro Light did provide a much needed reward in between classes, and there is nothing more sanguine than holding a beer in one hand and a smoke in the other; but, expectedly, cigarettes became a necessary accessory to coffee and beer, and eventually, to everything else.
So, I smoked. And what was once an occasional cigarette among friends after Constitutional law class was now a pack-a-day habit that I scheduled my life around. And if you've read this far, you probably know the rest of the story; cigarettes became an unwanted distraction to my career, to my romantic life, and to mere existence. Of course, I made plans to quit almost as soon as I got hooked, but the reckoning day got pushed back further and further. Sometimes, after a two-pack night that left me breathing ash the next morning, I would make myself quit -- but it'd only last a day or so before I made an excuse to start again. Between 2001 and 2003, I suspect I quit half a dozen times, but it never took longer than a week.
But, finally, when the city of Boston passed their smoking ban in May of 2003, I finally managed to break the habit. If I couldn't smoke in bars, I reckoned, there wasn't much point in it anymore. So, I quit -- starting with the nicotine gum, then the nicotine patch, and finally the nicotine lozenge, which I absolutely cherished almost as much as an actual cigarette, which is probably why it took me two-and-a-half years before I managed to quit even the Commit lozenge, by phasing it out with the nicotine patch again. And for three months, I was totally, wholly nicotine free.
As you can guess, however, my anti-addiction stranglehold didn't last much longer. It started innocently enough with one, and then a couple, and now -- three months later -- I'm back to a pack a day. For a smoker, it's really not an interesting story -- the quit and relapse is more or less a way of life for many of us -- an abusive relationship with someone you love, I guess. And, of course, because we smokers don't "bottom out" or hurl into a downward spiral, our addiction is given second-class status to the alcoholics and drug fiends, which is fair enough, I suppose. They don't make a lot of movies about folks quitting cigarettes, and nicotine rehab is kind of out of the question, though I suspect that has something to do with the tobacco lobbies and our nation's reliance on the tobacco crop. No one feels pity for a smoker, though; we're just expected to suck it up and quit. But, I'm getting into politics, and that's really not what this experiment is about.
What is it about? Well, starting on August 1, 2006, I'm going to make my final break from cigarettes once and for all. And I've volunteered to chronicle my cessation for the good people at Beginnerguide.com. I suspect that I'll update this blog daily for the first 30 days or so, and assuming all goes well, I'll keep you posted sporadically in the months thereafter. At the same time, within this section of the Beginners Guide, I'll explore in more detail the mythology of nicotine addition, offer some guidance, and sift through the research and statistics, in the hopes of making the Beginners Guide to Smoking Cessation one of the more authoritative places on the Nets to get your quit on.
I'm certainly not suggesting that I have a better story to tell (I don't), but I'm hoping that I have a voice that many of you might find relatable, especially to those of you who don't have that one definitive reason to give up smoking, but who are just doing it because you think you should, or because the malevolent stares you get for lighting up on the subway platform have gotten a little out of hand of late. I'm also not here to demonize smokers or the habit -- in our existing cultural landscape, smoking is often that one last vice we are allotted and the decision to give it up should be our own, and not some Orwellian monkey stumping for votes under the guise of looking after our own health. After all, the decision to choose our own means of death is our birthright, and if we want to go out in a blaze of nicotine and tar, more power to us. But, as for me, I'm kicking it -- I've always been fond of the hit-by-a-bus scenario; it's a lot more sexy than hacking my blackened lungs onto my pillow late into my senior citizenship.
And please, during the course of this experiment, I do not expect pats on the back, or encouraging words from the occasional reader. Avoiding that brand of lockstep, 12-step mentality is exactly the reason I picked up the habit in the first place -- to avoid conformity. But, I suppose, there are better ways to differentiate one's self than self-inflicted halitosis.
So, by all means, stick around. Add a bookmark. Stick me on your blogroll. Keep checking back -- and if you have the sudden urge to nuke your own habit, play along at home. There's nothing I love more than the war stories of someone giving up one of the few things in life they love. But, it's probably for the best, right?