GUS (Gave Up Smoking) is a community support diary for Kossacks in the midst of quitting smoking. Any supportive comments, suggestions or positive distractions are appreciated. If you are quitting or thinking of quitting (or want to support quitters), please - join us! We kindly ask that politics be left out.
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A message to all quitters: you don't have to avoid GUS if your latest attempt to quit didn't work out. We won't give you a bad time and we consider the attempted quits as "practice" for the real quit.
Y'know, compared to a lot of folks reading this -- especially the new quitters -- I have it pretty easy most of the time. It's been a good long while since I was a smoker (going on seven years now!) and I count myself as very fortunate to be one of those people who hasn't really been plagued by ongoing cravings or faced with much in the way of temptation. I don't live with smokers, and most of my family are nonsmokers too. I have a few friends who still smoke, but their number is dwindling. I work with a few die-hards, but not directly and it's easy enough to avoid the miserable little smoking area outside (especially in Winter). And I live in a state with some pretty comprehensive smoking bans, so I don't really have to deal with smoke in restaurants, bars, clubs, cafes or outdoor events, either.
And I'm really lucky in all of this, I do appreciate that! I know so many quitters who have to deal with partners, significant others, family members or friends who smoke. There are those who face smoking in the workplace, or a social circle where smoking is the norm, instead of the exception. People in recovery for other substances often have to contend with meetings and events where the majority are still hanging onto that last, first addiction, nicotine. It's rough, and I applaud anyone who is quitting despite these challenges. I'm not sure I would have been so strong; I only managed to hang onto my quit around my still-smoking ex-boss out of sheer spite!
The upshot of this is that I know I got lucky in the circumstances of my quit, and I also realize I tend to take my nice little [mostly] smoke-free bubble for granted. How much the latter is true was brought home to me in a rather surprising fashion over the weekend, while I was poking around a big old antique shop.
It was one of those massive, warehouse-sized ones that rents booths to individual dealers, the kind that take forever to get through because of the sheer volume of stuff everywhere. I was enjoying myself, checking out the goods, having my memory jogged, minding my own business, and BAM!! Out of the blue, my little trip down Memory Lane was hijacked by a craving so intense, I'm still trying to make sense of it!
People, I came thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis close to buying cigarettes this weekend.
I know. I KNOW.
What the Hell was I thinking?
If you're not a regular devotee of the flea market/antiques/collectibles/auction circuit, you may not be aware of the higher-than-average number of smokers who seem to be associated with these places, either as dealers or aficionados. Nearly all of them have sizable smoking areas for dealers and customers; in more tobacco-friendly regions, you're even able to smoke on the grounds or inside the buildings. A lot of dealers have those telltale gravelly smoker's voices; a lot of them also have a fair amount of smoking-related merchandise (e-cigs and roll-your-own equipment in the more downmarket fleas; elegant smoking accessories or vintage cigarette advertising in the high-end places). The place I visited this weekend? Mostly high-end, with a lot of regional kitsch and rustic Maine nostalgia for the tourists. My eyes skimmed right over the dozens of ashtrays and fancy lighters and framed Lucky Strike ads, just as they always do.
And then, I spotted them: the cigarettes of my youth. And I wanted them. SO much.
Someone -- a salesman? A collector? The Devil, paying me back for making all those Rapture jokes? -- had assembled the biggest collection of cigarettes from the '60s, '70s, and '80s that I have ever seen. Not only was there every brand I'd ever tried on this side of the Atlantic during my smoking days, but brands I barely recognized or remembered.
There were cheery, groovy '60s brands I remember seeing on coffee tables as a little kid, and advertised on TV or in magazines. There were odd, muddy-colored, nondescript packs with '70s graphics that reminded me of my babysitting days and kids smoking out behind the school. There were strange, skinny '80s brands that were probably designed to look good next to a pile of cocaine. Collectively, they triggered a powerful wave of nostalgia in me, and my brain started chanting "wantwantwantwantwant" like I'd quit minutes ago, instead of years. WTF?
Srsly, people, within about five minutes, I was trying to rationalize a purchase. "It's not like I'm going to smoke them or anything...I just want to..."
What? Look at them?
Hold them?
Smell them?
Stick one in my mouth and oops, if I accidentally bump into a lit match, who knows?
I mean, clearly I wasn't being very rational, but a little part of my psyche suddenly got very loud and started jonesing for yesterday's smokes.
Yogi Berra once said "The future ain't what it used to be." Well, the past ain't either. I don't know what I was looking to recapture by having those smokes, to be honest. Maybe a return to the time when I didn't see nicotine as an addictive substance that might do me some serious harm? Perhaps a part of me was trying to recapture the magical, consequence-free ideas about smoking I had from those long-ago days before I'd ever tried one myself? Was it the nearly irresistible pull of sense memory, reminding me of those self-destructive (but oh so fun) impulses of my teens and twenties?
Whatever it was, I had a hard time walking away from them, and this diary is a testament to the strength of the impulse; I'm still thinking about them even now. Oddly enough, I'm not craving new cigarettes; I don't fear walking past the smoke shops on my way to and from work; I'm not seriously considering a convenience store purchase, or even toying with bumming one from a smoker.
No, I am craving the time-warped smokes of my youth (and, subconsciously, whatever it is I associate with them) and frankly, I want the craving to just go away already.
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