Quitcotine.

Quitting cigarettes is easy; I’ve done it a hundred times!


But I’ve always fell right back into that nicotine cobweb. What is it about these little white paper straws that keep you wanting more and more? I’m sure you’ve never heard this before, but apparently they’re bad for you. Someone just told me for that for the first time.

All jokes aside, I decided if I started smoking at the beginning of my college career, I would quit this habit by the end of my school years, and time is closing in. Could I really stop this disgusting habit, or was it going to be another failed attempt for the millionth time? Yes! I can, I’m going to, I need to… or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Cigarettes all started my freshman year. My friends and I would lounge outside our dorm stoop, sip on our nicotine straws, talk about how hard our classes were, how to get beer for the night, and where the nearest party was at. My 18th birthday was a week into school, and I was convinced to purchase my first pack of lung killers. Soon came smoke breaks after classes, then another after eating, one while driving, one more after a long hot-date, then another and another, more and more until… (Brace Yourselves Mom and Dad)… I was defined as a cigarette smoker.

But all this needed to stop. Half a pack one day, then a full pack another day. Then I was broke and craving. Did I really fall into this tobacco corporation crap trap? I did, and I was kicking myself in the ass for it.

It’s cool though. I’ll quit for new-years, or maybe the summer time, or possibly for my new job, or I won’t smoke around my family. Wrong, wrong. Failure after failure. But this time I was certain. I’m quitting for good.

All day I fought the urges. Thoughts of having one were constant. I wake up, I want a cig. I fight it. Off to school. I drive, I want one. I fight it. A student offers me a smoke after a class. I HAVE to say no. I will say no. I fight it. I, for once, said no. I was proud. Dinner time. I finish eating, I want one. Just one little puff of that disgusting nicotine smoke to enter my craving lips. But no. I can’t. I fight it. I eat more. Off to rest. I need to sleep, but I still want one. I can’t fall asleep till I get JUST one. I’m going to go buy a pack. I can’t. Just fight it. My eyes get heavy. I start to dose. Dreams of that little cancer stick in between my fingers. I puff, and I puff. My dreams won’t fight it.

Next day, the urges grow simpler. I still want, but I know I can say no. I do say no. My breathing already feels healthier. I eat more and more: Sandwiches, cereal, eggnog, pistachios, and ice-cream, anything to keep my mouth, and mind distracted. But I still want, and I still fight.

This isn’t a heroic story everyone, so grab your armrest and prepare to be shocked. I fail. It’s Friday. I tell myself, it’s been a long week. I see a student, a friend, and they’re puffing away on that piece of shit I want so bad. I can’t take it. I’m stressed. I take it, I light it, and I fucking love it. The taste, the smoke, the fighting, the urges all just exhale. I love it. I taste it. I didn’t fight it. I’m ashamed.

Okay, new plan. Maybe I just won’t buy another pack. There you go! That a good idea. I mean a couple here and there isn’t going to kill me. And the whole process starts over again.