The idea of “letting go” has been all around me lately, especially in my current state of smoking cessation. You know how when working towards a goal, and then after days, weeks, months of blood, sweat, and tears, you finally accomplish it and it feels like such an easy feat that you wonder why you didn’t do it long ago? Well, that’s how I’m feeling about quitting smoking. And coincidently, that’s how I felt when I finished the half-marathon back in April. It was like seeing someone you recognize on the street, but not realizing that you recognize them until they are halfway down the block. It’s like doing a mental doubletake and then spinning around and calling out my own name… Ok, that was a little too heady for a Saturday morning. Anyways, I’m feeling more and more in tune with myself.
I unintentionally started mentally prepping to quit about two months ago. Every ten bucks that I threw down on a pack made me depressed, and every inhale I took made me sick. But still I did it, like a dog who keeps eating until he throws up. But I became more and more aware of every cigarette I smoked and more and more disgusted every time. Until one morning, twelve days ago, I woke up and discovered that I was out of cigarettes. After two months of berating myself and wondering how I, an otherwise intelligent person, could continue on with such a gross habit, I found that I simply could not bring myself to waste another $10. So, I just decided that I wasn’t going to buy a pack. And I didn’t. And I haven’t. And I figure I’ve saved about $120 in the past week and a half, just by NOT BUYING A PACK.
Five years ago I abruptly stopped another bad, life-threatening habit. I had been fairly severely eating disordered since the age of…14? 15? It’s a bit hard to remember. But a very long time. For years I would go through patterns of not eating, followed by bouts of bulimia. At my very worst, right before I stopped, I was throwing up seven times a day. This was in the midst of my senior year of college, and I still have no idea how I ended up graduating with a 3.9 GPA. Let’s just say I was EXHAUSTED all the time. Anyways, when I went into my therapist’s office on what would end up being my third to last session, and announced that I had not thrown up in three days, she was shocked. Fortunately she knew me well enough at that point to realize that I never lied to her during our sessions, because going from throwing up seven times a day, every day, to stopping completely is incredibly odd for an eating disordered person. And I wasn’t using my anorexic tendencies either. I was eating normally and felt better than I had in years. I’m still not sure if I can explain what happened to me on that day that I quit, but much like in the past few months of agonizing “smokey time,” I just grew sick of it. I just didn’t want to do it anymore. And I rationalized and realized after months (or in the eating disorder case, YEARS) of committing this bad habit, I just DIDN’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE. And as anyone who knows me, and this is especially true of all of my former food service employers, can attest to— It’s REALLLLLY difficult to get me to do something if I decide that I don’t want to.
I realize that I’m only twelve days into my cessation, but this is in no way like any other time I’ve (languidly) tried to quit. Something has switched in my brain. And I’m not quitting for anyone, or with anyone. I can’t even say, self-helpedly, that I’m quitting for myself. I really wish that were the case— unfortunately, I think I will always have a touch of a self-destructive streak. I’m simply quitting because I want to. I don’t want to smoke. I don’t want to spend upwards of $300 on cigarettes a month. I don’t like the tight-chested, light-headed feeling. I don’t like “clutching” onto something when I’m stressed/bored/angry/sad/etc. So, i’m letting go. Like an inmate awaiting the day of release, I have been keeping a scrap of paper on my dresser, and every morning I draw a slash on it. It’s title is “Days Free.” Because that’s how I feel. It’s funny because smoker’s tend to smoke for control issues, but in reality, THEY are the ones being controlled. So I am no longer bound and tied. My brain has finally let go, and I am happy to be able to breathe a (deep) sigh of relief.
