At this precise moment ten years ago today, I had my last cigarette ever.
I started smoking in junior high, which was not unusual in the late 1970s. I kept up with the filthy, vile, and disgusting habit for twenty-five years, doing Great Pumpkin knows what kind of damage to my body and inflicting discomfort and repulsive smells on the friends who got within twenty feet of me.
In the end, I pretty much quit cold turkey. I used a little nicotine gum and I’d tapered off for six months before by not smoking inside the house. But it was just time. And I’ve never looked back. I now find the notion that intentionally inhaling any kind of smoke into your body would be a good thing is utterly fucking ridiculous. Being around smokers is as unpleasant for me as it must be for someone who never smoked. Maybe even more so.
I fully understand how hard it is to quit, though.
But it’s not impossible…