My Friend, Cigarette, Has Died.

Well, needless to say, quitting smoking is hard. That is a well known fact, alright, but when you are actually going through it, you can feel like you are the only one in the world feeling it. It sucks. Especially when you are being forced to quit. Yeah, that's me. My name is Misery. Come join me, won't you? I need serious help.

I've been smoking for 15 years now. 15. I can hardly believe it. Through thick and thin, sickness and in health, richer or poorer, I have managed to keep my addiction at bay. Cigarettes have been there for me, even when I felt all alone in the world without a friend in sight. It gave me comfort to smoke. It made me relaxed. It gave me something to do. I was part of my daily routines. My daily life. Everything I did had a cigarette attached to it.

There have been a few times when I attempted to kick the habit. There have even been times when I spent a week at the hospital without one--a perfect time to quit. The second I left, though, I would light one up as if that week never happened. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me.

This time, though, it's the real deal. I am in a place and situation in my life where quitting is a necessity. I don't have a job. I don't have money. My boyfriend hates that I smoke anyway and says this is the perfect time. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know he is right. It is a waste of money and smoking is making my health worse. Sure, it sounds good on paper but in reality, I hate it. Sometimes, I just don't think I can do it. I need serious help.

My addiction is mental as well as physical. When I feel it physically, my body actually gets scared. It tenses up. I feel like I have no oxygen coming in, ironic as that may sound. My body feels like it is missing something essential. If only it knew. My poor body has lived with nicotine for so long that it doesn't know what to do without it.

This makes me cry. Just the thought of my body's reaction worries me to death. Makes me wonder why the hell I did this to myself in the first place. Stupid, stupid me.

I am not sure what is worse--the physical addiction or the mental one. Like I said: smoking is part of my daily routines. I have had one with my morning coffee for years. I smoke one after my shower while my hair dries  I smoke while driving. I smoke while taking breaks from whatever I am doing at the time. I can't even go through a full movie without stopping to smoke one. Now that I don't have any, that part of my life is ripped away. I am constantly thinking before I do something "I'll go smoke a... Oh yeah. Shit. Dammit! DAMMIT!"

This is once again where the crying starts. But instead of just crying, it becomes somewhat of a yelling and screaming episode. The mental addiction thus combines with the physical, and we have ourselves a psycho.

I feel like I am jumping out of a plane without a parachute. I feel like I am locked in a tiny room tied up in a straight jacket. I feel like I am buried alive.

I hear this is supposed to get easier. Right now, though, it seems as though my misery will never end.