My Drug Addiction

I’m damaged goods. And I’m the kind of guy who gets off to being honest about himself. I find it empowering, like I imagine a woman must find keeping her maiden name after marriage to be. Yes, I could keep quiet and pretend that I’m perfect but in the face of the obvious truth, it’s much more humiliating than admitting that in some areas of my life, I’m not doing too well.

I started smoking tobacco when it was still cool. But I guess it got away from me. Now I’m at an age where it isn’t so cool and though I acknowledge it, it is still terribly difficult to stop. I think this is what they call addiction. Whenever I think of admitting addiction to something, I think of being 5 years old again, and doing something that incites the universal and dreaded “ooooooooooo” from a chorus of my peers as they simultaneously wag their hands in the air, eyes wandering around the playground in search of teacher—someone has broken the rules. That’s usually everyone’s first taste of societal conviction. Break a vase—“oooooooooooo”, skip in line “oooooooooo” , make someone cry—“oooooooooo”, drugs-- “ooooooooo”. These days whenever I have a smoke I can hear the “ooooooooooo” of doctors, athletes, and positive role models, as they wag their hands and frantically search for the teacher-- I’m in trouble.

Tattle-tales-- I really don’t care…

The first time I attempted to quit was casual, not unlike an everyday decision, I didn’t expect much resistance. At my inability to follow through, I felt somewhat frustrated with myself and blamed it on a lack of focus and decided I’d try harder. A few attempts after that, obviously flustered, I tried even “harder” to no success. And finally, in a panic I made rushed, careless ultimatums with myself “if I can’t quit, then I’m weak and I don’t deserve to achieve anything.” It didn’t work.

I denied having a problem for a long time. I remember explaining to anyone who would listen how stressed I was, how I only smoked at Starbucks or on a Wednesday nights or when I go out for drinks, and how I would quit after college [at the mention of law school by the listener, I always seemed to have a sudden and acute build-up of ear wax that temporarily inhibited my hearing. It conveniently subsided at the ringing in of a new subject]. It wasn’t until after my secret dry runs at quitting that I knew something was wrong. It was horrible. I used to blissfully enjoy a cigarette or cigar, relishing every drag, taking the time as an opportunity to sort through and organize my thoughts for the day—the honeymoon was over. I knew too much and I couldn’t be comforted by the smoker’s mantra, I can quit whenever I feel like it—I felt like it! Intellectually I was ready to stop, but I couldn’t.

And here we are at new material, students. A good deal of stress stems from new experiences and first encounters in life. To my knowledge I have never been addicted to anything prior to smoking, not food, not sweets, not TV, not alcohol, nothing. In fact I never gave too much thought to addiction because I considered myself too strong for such nonsense, and envisioned addiction a problem for people of substantially weaker spirit than my own.

They got my ass.

I’m sure it works a bit differently for everybody, but it is both my own character strengths and weakness that make it hard to quit. My strength of logic and reason coupled with my weakness to feel sorry for myself, and rationalize bad decisions. Here is an illustration. After making the firm decision that I have to quit (which actually took a couple of weeks of false declarations) I would go several days without smoking. But it is never too long before my resolve is tested, perhaps I’m hanging out with a friend who is smoking, out having a few drinks, in a setting or thoughtful state of mind which triggers an intense craving—an urge, a desire. It’s the worst. The feeling is very much like when one is starving and must have something to eat, coupled with the persistent conviction that this would be the perfect time to eat. Now imagine that though this person is perfectly capable of quenching that desire and enjoying a meal, they are using their will power alone to stop themselves. Their will power, usually based on nothing more than the words “I mustn’t”, is all they can do to keep themselves from buying something to eat which they could easily do at any moment, without anyone stopping them. Now imagine that person being in a setting in which a good deal of other people are enjoying meals right in front of him. He’s starv—oh no, he let his guard down and imagined how good the food would be going down. His body’s hunger becomes violent. Before he can stop himself, he remembers the unparallel satisfaction of a meal past, the one he enjoyed with some friends on a road trip up north (The meals always seem all the more satisfying when its cold). As he races around, frustrated with himself in his head, the worst possible thing to happen occurs, someone eating next to him is like,

“hey do you want a bite?”

Welcome to a quitter’s nightmare. Any bar, pub, coffee house patio, or front steps of any Language Arts department at any university.

Maybe he could resist all of that if his mind created a united front against the attacks, but that ain’t interesting—in life, there is always “one more complication”, in this case—a traitor, enter Q. I introduced Q a few entries ago in my Dreamer’s entry, basically Q is the part of a person’s consciousness that will always stand in the way of that person’s spiritual growth. He or she exists only to talk you out of good decisions and keep you as far away from progress in life as possible. The fact that there exists a part of us that’s only purpose is to sabotage us is very interesting. Of course Q is only the name I use to identify this thing in every one of us, and it is far more complex than I care to try and explain with my limited knowledge. Where it comes from and why it exists is also beyond me to explain and would differ with whom you talk to. But the main point is it is a very disturbing thing, especially when you yourself are trying so hard to overcome a personal challenge, and you yourself are also trying so hard to stop you. If a girl has ever told herself that she’s unattractive, or a guy who wants to ask a girl out convinces himself she wouldn’t be into him-- Q. For someone who has ever gone out on a limb to pursuit an opportunity and didn’t get it, then they hear, “I knew it. I’ll never…” There are enough people tearing us down on the outside, why in the world would we want to say such things to ourselves? The truth is that to a certain extent we can’t control it.

My Q is scary. He knows everything. He knows where my faith is weakest and he knows where my shell is softest. He’s so damned persuasive too. He knows just what to say. In my hour of temptation, he shows up to give me the final push.

Its okay, you deserve it. How long have you gone? It’s fine to have one now, it’s not like you’re buying a pack—this is life, one now and then is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Remember, you’re in control.

He’s smart. He uses power words like “moderation” and “once-in-a-while” a lot. I try to shake it off and put it out of my mind, reminding myself, “I can have a good time tonight without smoking a cigarette”, but he comes back. Are you serious right now? You know a black [Black and Mild] would be perfect right now. It would be so relaxing. It…

No—no I’m done.

It turns ugly.

Do you really think that’s it? You need to be honest with yourself; do you really think that you will go through the rest of your life without ever smoking again?

I begin to imagine the various times in life that I would want to smoke the most, I couldn’t imagine not having at least one more smoke at some point in life. Damn, He’s got a point.

If you know that you’re going to smoke again at some point in the future, then why not have—just one-- tonight. There’s no difference, it’s not a big deal.

By now I’m already disappointed in myself that the dialogue in my head has gotten this far. I feel like I’ve already been defeated. I can’t stop.

No you can’t. And seriously, why would you? What are you trying to prove? You don’t smoke nearly enough to worry about any medical problems—that’s for people who go through packs a day. You want to; it makes you happy, so just do it. Who is stopping you? So-and-so has been smoking a lot longer and a lot more than you, and look, their doing great.

That’s true; So-and-so has never had a problem with it.

It’s stupid to have all these restrictions for yourself. You want to and it’s there. Don’t be so hard on yourself; you work hard enough to deserve a treat. Just do it.

Even if I somehow resist tonight, it takes so much effort, I can’t seriously resist every time after this anyway.

Even if you somehow resist tonight, it takes so much effort, you can’t seriously resist every time after this anyway.

Face it, you’re a smoker. That’s just who you are.

I lose.

“Excuse me, is it cool if I bum a cigarette off of you…”

I did not exaggerate, that is very similar to the dialogue that goes on in my head right before I succumb. After losing a crucial battle like that, I slip back into my old habits. Discouraged with my weak will and broken promise to myself, I truly believe that it’s above me, that it’s beyond me to stop. My life is difficult enough without me making a war out of one of the few pleasures I have in life. I decided that it was stupid of me to try and quit on the basis that I don’t really smoke that much to begin with, and that life’s too short [that’s irony in case you’re wondering], I would continue to smoke, though always at the back of my mind knowing that I’m better than this. I know there is a life in which I’m free from the habit, because as much as I’d like to think that smoking is my decision the truth is I’ve become the habit’s slave. And where as there was once glamorous nights of smoking at what I could only describe to be “just the right times”, these days I would be smoking for no reason whatsoever. That’s right. Despite a sore throat, and a slight headache, like ritual I would smoke. I would smoke even when I didn’t enjoy it. And if a certain amount of time passed and I hadn’t smoked, I would get up and smoke.

I saw what I was doing and I was so overwhelmed by what was happening to me, that I actively took a stand in ignoring it. The problem was getting worse. But I was afraid that if I tried to quit again, I would fail and lose even more respect for myself. It wasn’t fair! I was just starting to love myself and then I find out I have this to deal with, like a family moving into their dream home only to learn weeks later that they have a termite problem. And every time I did muster the resolve to quit, I would go a week, maybe 2, before I found myself in a critical moment of temptation and our good friend Q would show up with his big words and reassurances and I would start the process all over, each time I grew a little less confident and more resigned to my fate to die a smoker.

Of course there was still a little voice saying, it’s not over yet.