Addiction only dies in heaven

Smoking. An addiction worse than cocaine itself yet so readily available everywhere you turn.

The first time I tried smoking cigarettes, I was 13 years old. My dad, who chain smoked on a daily, made me roll his cigarettes for him every time he needed new packs. I was forced to sit at the kitchen table for as long as it took. Sometimes he needed 2 packs and others, six. After a while, I got curious. They were such a big part of my brother and I's lives, I wondered why. My parents loved to leave me in charge of babysitting while they left until late at night to go play bingo. One of those nights, I rolled a pack. For myself. Of course, I got my brother involved, who was 2 years younger than me, so that he wouldn't rat me out. We pocketed the pack, found a lighter and went outside for a walk. In the darkness, we lit a cigarette and sucked on it like we had seen our parents do day in and day out. We didn't realize we had to inhale the smoke, but we felt cool. Eventually, I got ratted out by my cousin and was told to eat one of the cigarettes I had rolled as a punishment. I didn't. I got dishes for life instead.

The next time I smoked, I was 21 years old. I started by stealing flavored cigarillos at work and smoking them in hiding in my bedroom. I had just moved back in with my mother after a break up and being a newly single mom, I was stressed.

Despite the cigarillos, the first day I truly started smoking was when my baby was 4 months old. She was colicky, I was out of options and I was alone. As I stood in the backyard after being forced to let her cry herself to sleep, I cried with her. Begging God to show me the way to healing this pain I was feeling. I think it's the Devil that answered because I was suddenly guided to my ex's house where I knew he was selling native cigarettes. I smoked to heal. I smoked to relieve stress. I smoked to calm down. I smoked to stop feeling. I smoked to cultivate strength. I smoked to tame my anxiety. I smoked as a distraction. I smoked for every possible reason I could come up with.

I tried to quit many times over. The first time I tried, it was 3 years after my first born. I had given birth to my second baby. My wanting to quit was heavily influenced by my boyfriend's requests. He didn't smoke and despised that I did. I tried so hard. It's just willpower. You just have to make up your mind and fight through the cravings. Chew on some straws you will be fine. Suck on a lollipop, you'll get through it. Pop some pills to stop the cravings. Stick a patch on your skin. Drink a lot of water. Resist the urge. It is mind over matter. I failed. Over and over again, I failed to quit. I did everything all those articles told me to do, yet I failed. I tried every trick in the books, I still failed. I can't quit. So I didn't.

Four years later, I tried to quit smoking once more. Again, heavily requested by my new boyfriend. I actively tried to quit this nasty addiction for two whole years. Once again, I researched all the how to articles. I read the Allen Carr book that, literally everyone, stood by religiously. Cinnamon tooth picks, twizzlers, straws and candy. Broken up pieces of dark chocolate in my fridge. I can do this. I just have to put my mind to it. I can quit. I would buy a pack then throw out half of it. Shit, regret, buy another pack or worse, garbage dive for the one I threw out. Repeat this a week later only this time, drown the cigarettes. I have no money therefore won't be buying any. Ask neighbors, friends and family for money or a cigarette, just one, it's all I need. It was a rollercoaster of quit, relapse, quit, relapse. Every time building more and more frustration in my failure. Buy a pack. Throw it out in a public garbage. Go back the next day to pick it out and smoke the rest of the pack. Throw the pack in the snow and in the bushes. Go looking for it within 24 hours. Sometimes, I'd finish the pack I had and think, "Today is the day I quit. I'm broke so I won't be buying more". Go for a walk and find half smokes on the ground. Pick them up and smoke them. Pick up every butt with at least 2 puffs left on them. I couldn't go more than 24 hours by the end without a total breakdown. Every time I'd fail, my boyfriend would be disappointed. When I managed to make it to two days, we fought because I was a moody lunatic. He blamed me and hated the darkness I projected. This annoyed me because the moods were the result of cigarette withdrawals which HE had asked for. I even escaped my every day life, my boyfriend, my kids and my job to quit smoking. I spent two weeks at my dad's house in the country, trying to figure it out. My dad was still a chain smoker. I stole cigarettes from him and smoked them in hiding. About a week after I got back home, I fully relapsed again. After two years of trying, I quit quitting. Clearly, it wasn't going to happen and the more I tried, the worst I got. I was a monster. The more I failed, the more I blamed myself. The more I criticized myself. My anxiety got worse. and my depression too. Every failure, I believed in myself less and less. Obviously, there was something wrong with me. I did everything right. Why couldn't I quit?! I did everything the doctors tell you to do. So I quit quitting.

I couldn't understand why all the proven ways to quit smoking weren't working for me.

Once I freed my mind from the withdrawals and addicted thoughts, I started focusing on other parts of my life while I allowed myself to smoke as much as I wanted. Some days, I smoked three in a row only to go back for another thirty minutes later. I was smoking more than I ever had before. I knew I needed to make a change. I knew I needed to quit. I was just too stressed. I needed my addiction. I was unhappy. I was miserable in my relationship, in my stay at home mom status, in my financial situation, in my babysitting job and in my environment. As a mom. In my mental illnesses. I felt suffocated.

The first thing to go was the babysitting. The parents had made it very hard to do my job and I concluded that the stress wasn't worth it. Then the relationship went. Then I moved out and got my own place. I was starting fresh. New possibilities. New horizons. New goals. New dreams. As I focused on my new life, friendships fell apart. I became less and less tolerant of the drama I had always let myself drown in. I started standing up for myself. Setting boundaries. Walking away from anything that brought me negative energy and unnecessary stress. Then I started healing my past. I visited my doctor for medication that would help tame my anxiety symptoms. I turned to tarot and spirituality to help me heal my wounds. I practiced gratitude, mindfulness and self-awareness. I faced my depression and embraced all the emotions that engulfed me as they came. I cried every day for weeks. Releasing. Cleansing. As I freed myself of the things that anchored me so low to the ground, I started feeling lighter. My mind started feeling clearer. My heart happier. My soul reconnected.

While I healed myself, I started seeing the truth within myself and around me. Seeing the illusions I once believed. Cigarettes included. As I grew closer to my true healed self, cigarettes were losing its sheen. Its necessity in my life faded. I started seeing the cancer sticks for what they were; paper, tobacco and filter. An object that dissipates within minutes. A product that was making me sick. I started noticing the rot it implemented on my hair, my skin, my breath and my mind. As I healed and worked on loving myself, I started caring about my health, especially my mental health. Healing meant facing my stressors, my triggers, my emotions and my thoughts. The things I would normally run away from and ignore with the help of cigarettes, I dealt with. In facing the things I would originally suppress, I went out for cigarettes less and less. When I did, they tasted different. They made me feel different. They repelled me.

One weekend, the kids left to go visit their dad. "This weekend, I am sick. I refuse to leave my house. I will park my butt on the couch all day if I have to." I placed the vape on the end table in case of emergency. I watched tv, I wrote, I sang, I took showers, I read books, I drank lots of water, I ate gum and I slept. Then it was Monday, the kids would be coming back. I was nervous as hell. I hadn't had a smoke in 3 days and surprisingly hadn't vaped either. I was nervous because parenting was hard and I had never known parenting without cigarettes. By Tuesday, I realized my body was free of all nicotine. Knowing this instilled a fear in me of replenishing the substance by using the vape, so I didn't. Two weeks. It took two weeks before I relapsed. The cravings were so intense, it consumed me. This time though, I didn't blame myself, criticize myself or abuse myself for failing. I met myself with kindness, understanding and compassion. A little something I had learnt to do in my healing. I bought a pack telling myself that maybe, I would just have one cigarette at night, to relax after a long day. I had one cigarette before going back into my apartment. The instant high was greater than I had remembered. I had another one. By the end of it, I felt lightheaded so I made my way inside. The moment I walked into my apartment, the nausea hit me like a truck. I ran to the bathroom and projectile vomited into the toilet. My head was hurting and everything around me was spinning. I felt like I was dying. I went straight to bed.

The next day came and went. Once the kids were in bed, my mind started whispering, "Have a cigarette. You did say you'd have one at night. You had one last night. C'mon, please." Despite being sick the night before, I grabbed a smoke and went outside. I lit the stick and puffed. Nausea swelled instantly. Every puff I took, I grimaced and forced myself to inhale, disgusted. About half way through my cigarette, my mind shifted. The self talk started. "What the fuck am I doing? I am literally forcing myself to smoke right now despite being disgusted by it. Despite struggling to get through it. I am forcing myself to smoke. No, not this time." Naturally, I finished the cigarette as to not waste it but when I threw it on the ground, I knew in that moment, I would never look back. I didn't need Mr. C. anymore. His friendship had been a lie this whole time. He was abusing me. Killing me. His true colors were shining bright and as a self-loving, self-aware, self-respecting woman with boundaries and new goals, settling for his abuse was not acceptable anymore.

I CAN quit. I am not saying the doctors and everyone else is wrong about how to quit smoking but I AM saying that willpower isn't enough. You have the addiction for a reason. Unless you remove those reasons, you cannot remove the addiction. The next time you're struggling to quit something, ask yourself, "Am I in a healthy environment? Is my mind in a healthy space? Are the people around me healthy for me? What changes can I do to align with the things that I want?"

Change your outside to breed a change in your insides. You can do it.

I believe in you XO.