It’s Sunday night.  I’m sitting on the couch staring intently at what is going to be the last pack of cigarettes I ever smoke.

I’m silently convincing myself that everything will be OK once all my little buddies are gone.  

People say that cigarettes become your best friends and that kicking the habit should be treated like a death, because of the individuals emotional attachment to these little death flutes.

That does seem to be true to a certain extent.  The anxiety I felt and was overwhelmed by that night, was as if I was watching a fatal car accident play out in slow motion.

I tried to take my time and spread out the last 5 cigarettes over the course of the evening. Tomorrow was going to be the day that I began my cessation protocol.

What actually took place was kind of interesting.  The first cigarette went well.  It took me 2 hours to have the second.  That’s when the anxiety of loss started to ramp up.  

So I had my third one about 45 minutes later.  Then the fourth was about a 30 minutes after that, then the fifth was about 15 to 20 minutes after that.

What the hell happened?

Those were supposed to take me through the rest of the night.  It’s only 8pm.  Damn it I failed all ready, I thought.

So I began the process of telling myself over and over again that I didn’t really need them.  That they weren’t really going anywhere because I could just run to the store and grab a new pack.

That kept me satisfied and content for about an hour.  By 9pm I was at the gas station buying another pack of smokes.  

That’s OK I told myself.  Tomorrow is the day I start to cut down.

After smoking 5 more before bed.  I fall asleep, not accepting the fact that I had let myself down, yet again.  Filled with unrecognized disappointment and angst.

Monday morning comes and I’m ready start the cessation process.  

First smoke goes alright.  I have one when I wake up.  In the past I would have had 2.

The next comes at my first break at 10:30.  That’s where things get a little dicey.  Instead of 1 smoke I have 2.  

That’s alright I think.  This just means I have to take one of the later in the day smokes out of the equation.

Lunch break comes and I have 1.  Now I’m back on track.

Afternoon break comes and I have 2.  Damn it!  Now I’m down to none for the evening.

At first I’m good with this.  Trying to convince myself, throughout the rest of the day, that it’s better this way and I’ll have an easier time getting to sleep tonight.  You know without all the wheezing and restlessness.

The work day ends.  I’m kind of proud of myself for making it this far without any more smokes.  Well being at home was a whole different story.

Trying to stay on point and focused was much harder than I imagined.  It was much like wrestling with water.

To be continued…