Days 9, 10, 11

Work, work, work.

I want a ciggie, I want a ciggie, I want a ciggie hey hey hey hey!

I'm on antibiotics for a tonsil infection and I STILL want a cigarette.

I got off work and am chewing gum and drinking water like a fiend.

It would be the perfect night, perfect temperature of chilly refreshing foggy air to sit outside and enjoy a little smoke.

I actually contemplated lighting a butt from the ashtray, which is so disgusting and shameful that I am embarrassed to even admit that I entertained it.

Even now, a little voice in the back of my head is telling me to just go out there, just one little puff.

It's like it wears you down, you know? The addiction is like a toddler wearing down an exhausted parent. Incessantly asking for something until they get it.

It's weird, right? I mean, I barely smoked. I didn't even smoke enough to quit with the patch. Yet here I am, freaking out about quitting. I just don't understand how that works, biologically. One would think it would be easier. Maybe it is. Maybe I'm just being a big baby compared to someone with a pack a day habit.

I know that taking one puff would mean taking one more. And another. And then when I really needed one. And then one when I get off from work. Soon, I'm back to smoking. It's a slippery slope of tobacco leaves, and I know that.

11 days down. It will only get easier from here. I can't ruin my progress.

The trouble is, I don't really want to quit.

I want to smoke. I love smoking. This is what I'm having trouble with. I know that I should quit, but I don't want to. There's a big disconnect going on internally. It's weird and irrational.

But I love my family and friends. I love them too much to hurt them by committing suicide. So I have to put the pack down, and back away. Because really, it's stupid to choose a drug over life.