Today has been sucky. I do not like sucky days.
Well, because my brain is flipping out, that’s why.
This not smoking thing, man. It’s got me all loco. Today at work, I felt that if anyone said anything to me, I would burst into tears. I almost did three different times, and it wasn’t anything tears-worthy, either. I was just…sad. And after work I went to the grocery store and I wandered around the g.d. store for an hour because I just couldn’t decide if I wanted chicken or pork chops, chicken or pork chops, chicken or pork chops. Hmm, this steak looks good, but what about chicken? Pork chops? After an hour, I ended up with bratwurst. I also got three ears of corn and some stuffed mushrooms because I thought to myself, “E, you’ve been eating poorly lately. Let’s eat something semi-decent tonight, okay?” Okay! I said as I ate all three ears of corn slathered in butter, the mushrooms, and two bratwursts. But my gaping maw wasn’t satisfied and I had a wicked sweet tooth, so I was going to make a cake but we didn’t have any eggs, so I settled for chocolate pudding mixed into half a tub of Cool Whip because you know, obviously. Duh.
I get sad and lonely, which isn’t new or anything, but before, I’d smoke because nicotine is my friend for 5 minutes and those pesky neurotransmitters need a good dose of it to settle me down! But now, since I’ve quit, cigarettes < food. Lots and lots and lots and lots of food. I could have gone to the gym to burn off some of those blah feelings, but did I? Oh ho ho ho! Nope. Because I’m sad!
I hope this bullshit is over soon because I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling this way, I’m tired of reverting back to terrible habits to make myself feel better, and I’m just tired in general.
I didn’t ever think nicotine was such a wild substance to be addicted to. In fact, on the scale of addictive substances, I’d rank cigarettes with caffeine and sugar, but after this ordeal, I would say it’s on cocaine or popping bubble wrap levels.
Plus, I never gave much thought to the emotional side of quitting. Sure, everyone talks about the physical side of quitting–after 20 minutes, your blood pressure returns to normal! A week after quitting, your senses of taste and smell return to normal! A year after quitting smoking, your risk of heart disease drops to non-smoker levels! Wowzers!
What isn’t mentioned is the fact you may feel like one of your parents died and you suddenly find yourself in the grips of the Kubler-Ross Model of Grief.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
I personally am shifting between anger, skipping bargaining now because I don’t have the “if I can smoke just one more cigarette, I’ll never do it again, I just need one” anymore and taking a header into depression. Oh, god, I’m so angry sometimes which is crazy because I typically don’t get angry very easily. I have a long fuse, but lately? Nope.
My anger is aimed at everyone who has any sort of addiction but is still doing it because it isn’t frowned upon like smoking is.
You like that cup of coffee or can of pop? Fuck you, asshole. Why can you drink that shit when I can’t smoke? Caffeine is addictive, you fuckers. How does it feel to go a day without your precious caffeine? You get an unbearable headache, irritable, and generally pissy, don’t you? Yeah, fuck you. Try quitting smoking, you fucking fuckers. Just because you sin differently than I did doesn’t make you better than me, you swine.
See? Hostile. Angry. And then this makes me so sad because this isn’t like me at all. For example, I’m more volatile now than I was when going through my divorce. My ex-husband and I cheated on each other and I’m more pissed off at people who drink goddamn caffeine than I was at my former spouse. That’s…not good.
Mad to sad in under six seconds. That’s impressive.
I really do hope this starts to level out soon. I hope the fire and passion I had when I decided to join the gym and lose weight claws its way back to the surface again and I harness it to get over this shit and finally accept I am not a smoker anymore. Smoking isn’t who I am. I’m not Erin the Smoker, I’m Erin the …something that isn’t a smoker… I’m Erin the Bicycle Rider or Erin the Gym Goer. I gotta quit this eating garbage shit off. I sit here writing and my gut is protruding and I’m getting angry that I resorted to food and didn’t take myself to the gym like I should have.
One day at a time. I just realized that tomorrow will be 3 weeks without smoking. Huh. That’s something to be goddamned proud of, I think, and I would be if I wasn’t so pissed off.
I’m going to go to bed before the she-beast decides it is time to feed again.
As always, thanks for reading.