Cheating
Just had a smoke. Oh man, nicotine high. Body sluggish, slightly nauseous.
Hoping that recording my relapses, thus shaming myself publicly, will provide extra incentive to resist in the future.
Didn't have one all of yesterday, meaning I actually pulled off a full 24-hour-and-change-period. Very promising.
I'd forgotten what it was like. Distinct, cyclic, tangible pangs of almost overwhelming need, over time, slowly giving way to a more constant, subdued, mournful yearning. Singular relapses carry a powerful, psychologically difficult combination of satisfaction and guilt.
The lower-left pocket of my cargo shorts has been partitioned as a Quit Kit. 3 packs of gum, a stressball, and tea tree toothpicks. The stressball is currently sitting on my desk, and every now and then I notice that I'm already holding it, squeezing it, tossing it back and forth forcefully between my hands.
I know I can do this, I just wish I didn't have to. I tend to hold to the philosophy that the journey is more important than the destination. Quitting nicotine (and I imagine, any physically addictive substance) is an exception. The journey blows. It's not satisfying, I don't learn anything from it, I'm not a better person for it. It's just one long, drawn-out exercise in feeling tense and unhappy. I don't feel like it's making me a better person. The destination is, basically, not having to feel like this anymore.
Hoping that recording my relapses, thus shaming myself publicly, will provide extra incentive to resist in the future.
Didn't have one all of yesterday, meaning I actually pulled off a full 24-hour-and-change-period. Very promising.
I'd forgotten what it was like. Distinct, cyclic, tangible pangs of almost overwhelming need, over time, slowly giving way to a more constant, subdued, mournful yearning. Singular relapses carry a powerful, psychologically difficult combination of satisfaction and guilt.
The lower-left pocket of my cargo shorts has been partitioned as a Quit Kit. 3 packs of gum, a stressball, and tea tree toothpicks. The stressball is currently sitting on my desk, and every now and then I notice that I'm already holding it, squeezing it, tossing it back and forth forcefully between my hands.
I know I can do this, I just wish I didn't have to. I tend to hold to the philosophy that the journey is more important than the destination. Quitting nicotine (and I imagine, any physically addictive substance) is an exception. The journey blows. It's not satisfying, I don't learn anything from it, I'm not a better person for it. It's just one long, drawn-out exercise in feeling tense and unhappy. I don't feel like it's making me a better person. The destination is, basically, not having to feel like this anymore.