Saturday, August 12, 2006
All The Cool Kids Are Doing It.
When we were 11 or 12, my friend Keisha and I decided to try cigarettes. She snuck some from her mom’s purse one morning and brought them to the bus stop. For some reason, we called cigarettes “squares,” and we were anxious to see what all the fuss was about. We went behind some bushes, giddy with nervous excitement. We lit up our stolen squares and choked on the acrid smoke until we nearly threw up. Disgusted, we stomped out the cigarettes and vowed never to smoke again. Why would anyone purposely do that to themselves?
A year or so later, I decided I wanted to hang out with the bad kids. The headbangers and thugs. They were so cool. They skipped out, got bad grades, and cussed freely. And they smoked. What better way for an insecure, timid little girl to become cool than to hang out with the bad kids?
I casually approached the area where they all hung out. There was a little place in the back of the school where they’d meet up to discuss the plans for ditching classes that day. It was littered with cigarette butts. I nodded to a girl I recognized from a class, and asked if I could bum a square. The girl handed me one, and I sat down next to her. I still didn’t know what I was doing, but I puffed gingerly, only inhaling a tiny bit. I didn’t want to choke out and look like a wuss in front of all these cool kids. They were talking to me; they were laughing with me! It was so exciting.
When the bell rang, we all rushed to get inside. I nearly fell over from the head rush. A cute boy in a Megadeth t-shirt held me up.
“Was that a regular cigarette? I feel all dizzy! Was it laced?!” I was afraid. They laughed.
“Naw, girl! You just got a Newport. Dat’s what dey do!” One of the thugs told me.
Oh! We all laughed together. People told me their experiences with the Newport induced head rushes. I was in. I was friends with the cool kids!
We skipped classes. We didn’t do anything other than sit in the woods surrounding the school and smoke cigarettes. We discussed how much school sucked and how lame all the teachers were. We contemplated the sluttiness of our classmates. We found new and creative uses for the word fuck. Fucknot. Shitfuck. Fuckstain.
Even then, I wasn’t addicted. I only smoked at school. I was 13, I didn’t have the means to go buy cigarettes. There were only one or two people who shared theirs with everyone else. One guy’s mom actually bought them for him. She was so cool! I wish my mom was that cool. On the weekends, and summer vacations, I was a nonsmoker.
I’m not sure when the addiction started. I know I was smoking regularly by the time I was 17. My mom catching me and slapping me so hard she broke my glasses didn’t make me quit. She’s a nurse, and she’d bring home lung cancer posters and hang them on the doors. Those hideous posters that said “What if cigarettes did to your outside what they do to your inside?” They had pictures of burnt, blackened faces. That didn’t inspire me to quit.
It was much more important to be cool. I could quit whenever I wanted to anyway. Shit, I liked smoking.
I continued to tell myself I liked smoking for the next 12 years. Sure I quit here and there for a few months at a time, but there was always a good reason to start back up. It was no longer about being cool, it was that I couldn’t figure out how to do anything without cigarettes.
Waiting for the bus? Light one up. Talking on the phone? Have a smoke. Yummy dinner? After dinner smoke, nothing’s better.
It strikes me how sad it is that I started smoking to be cool, and it only turned me into an outcast. I heard all the reasons to not smoke, I knew all the consequences. I didn’t care. I liked smoking.
But I wonder, now that I haven’t smoked in a few days, do I really like to smoke? Do I really enjoy being chained to my pack? I couldn’t leave the house before checking how many I had left, and that I had my lighter. Before I went anywhere, the first question was, “can I smoke there?” Oh no, I’m down to two, is there a gas station nearby?” I certainly didn’t enjoy the late night coughing fits, or the fact that I could barely make it up a couple flights of stairs.
I’m not going to be one of those that expounds on how everyone should quit smoking, and it should be outlawed. It’s an addiction, like any other, and no one is going to quit until they’re ready. In fact, there are studies that suggest nicotine addiction is comparable to heroin addiction. And it’s nearly as difficult for someone to quit smoking and stay quit. I’d be a hypocrite if I started chastising other people’s decisions to smoke. If you decide to quit, and you want to talk about it, ask for suggestions, that’s cool.
It does make me wonder how many stupid decisions we all make in order to gain acceptance. How many self-destructive things do we do just so people will like us?
There is a definite camaraderie among smokers. We’re banished to the outside, away from the nonsmokers. We’re usually on a schedule, so you’ll see the same people out there everyday. It’s easy to strike up a conversation about how ridiculous it is we’re out here smoking in the cold. We all know we should stop, but none of us are ready quite yet. When one of ours decides to quit, he becomes a sort of legend.
“Where’s Dave?”
“Oh, he quit.”
“Wow...Good for him.”
Then the rest of the break is in uneasy silence while we think about Dave. We’re proud of him, and secretly envious because he took a step we’re not ready (or willing) to take. Maybe we’ll talk about how he’s doing it. The patch? Gum? Cold turkey?! That crazy fucker.
We all wish him the best, but neither are we surprised if we see him outside again a few weeks or months later. We’ll give him shit, shake our heads in disappointment, but we won’t hesitate to hand him our lighter so he can be back in the group. Shit, we wouldn’t even fight him too hard if he asked for a cigarette. All he has to do is say he’s stressed out. Welcome back, Dave. How long did you last? Better luck next time.
I’d like to think this is my last time. It’s nice being able to smell things again. (My shampoo smells really good!) It’s certainly not easy, but then again, nothing worth doing is easy. Part of the fun for me is dissecting my withdrawals. Figuring out what’s going on in my head. I have a hard time breathing, but I know it’s because my body is getting used to the surplus oxygen. I know that pouring my cup of coffee triggers my cravings. I still reach for my pack when the phone rings. I still check my pockets for lighters when I leave the house. It’s amazing how much of everything I did revolved around smoking. I’m doing better with this quit than I did with my last one, and that’s a good thing. I’ll keep you posted.
A year or so later, I decided I wanted to hang out with the bad kids. The headbangers and thugs. They were so cool. They skipped out, got bad grades, and cussed freely. And they smoked. What better way for an insecure, timid little girl to become cool than to hang out with the bad kids?
I casually approached the area where they all hung out. There was a little place in the back of the school where they’d meet up to discuss the plans for ditching classes that day. It was littered with cigarette butts. I nodded to a girl I recognized from a class, and asked if I could bum a square. The girl handed me one, and I sat down next to her. I still didn’t know what I was doing, but I puffed gingerly, only inhaling a tiny bit. I didn’t want to choke out and look like a wuss in front of all these cool kids. They were talking to me; they were laughing with me! It was so exciting.
When the bell rang, we all rushed to get inside. I nearly fell over from the head rush. A cute boy in a Megadeth t-shirt held me up.
“Was that a regular cigarette? I feel all dizzy! Was it laced?!” I was afraid. They laughed.
“Naw, girl! You just got a Newport. Dat’s what dey do!” One of the thugs told me.
Oh! We all laughed together. People told me their experiences with the Newport induced head rushes. I was in. I was friends with the cool kids!
We skipped classes. We didn’t do anything other than sit in the woods surrounding the school and smoke cigarettes. We discussed how much school sucked and how lame all the teachers were. We contemplated the sluttiness of our classmates. We found new and creative uses for the word fuck. Fucknot. Shitfuck. Fuckstain.
Even then, I wasn’t addicted. I only smoked at school. I was 13, I didn’t have the means to go buy cigarettes. There were only one or two people who shared theirs with everyone else. One guy’s mom actually bought them for him. She was so cool! I wish my mom was that cool. On the weekends, and summer vacations, I was a nonsmoker.
I’m not sure when the addiction started. I know I was smoking regularly by the time I was 17. My mom catching me and slapping me so hard she broke my glasses didn’t make me quit. She’s a nurse, and she’d bring home lung cancer posters and hang them on the doors. Those hideous posters that said “What if cigarettes did to your outside what they do to your inside?” They had pictures of burnt, blackened faces. That didn’t inspire me to quit.
It was much more important to be cool. I could quit whenever I wanted to anyway. Shit, I liked smoking.
I continued to tell myself I liked smoking for the next 12 years. Sure I quit here and there for a few months at a time, but there was always a good reason to start back up. It was no longer about being cool, it was that I couldn’t figure out how to do anything without cigarettes.
Waiting for the bus? Light one up. Talking on the phone? Have a smoke. Yummy dinner? After dinner smoke, nothing’s better.
It strikes me how sad it is that I started smoking to be cool, and it only turned me into an outcast. I heard all the reasons to not smoke, I knew all the consequences. I didn’t care. I liked smoking.
But I wonder, now that I haven’t smoked in a few days, do I really like to smoke? Do I really enjoy being chained to my pack? I couldn’t leave the house before checking how many I had left, and that I had my lighter. Before I went anywhere, the first question was, “can I smoke there?” Oh no, I’m down to two, is there a gas station nearby?” I certainly didn’t enjoy the late night coughing fits, or the fact that I could barely make it up a couple flights of stairs.
I’m not going to be one of those that expounds on how everyone should quit smoking, and it should be outlawed. It’s an addiction, like any other, and no one is going to quit until they’re ready. In fact, there are studies that suggest nicotine addiction is comparable to heroin addiction. And it’s nearly as difficult for someone to quit smoking and stay quit. I’d be a hypocrite if I started chastising other people’s decisions to smoke. If you decide to quit, and you want to talk about it, ask for suggestions, that’s cool.
It does make me wonder how many stupid decisions we all make in order to gain acceptance. How many self-destructive things do we do just so people will like us?
There is a definite camaraderie among smokers. We’re banished to the outside, away from the nonsmokers. We’re usually on a schedule, so you’ll see the same people out there everyday. It’s easy to strike up a conversation about how ridiculous it is we’re out here smoking in the cold. We all know we should stop, but none of us are ready quite yet. When one of ours decides to quit, he becomes a sort of legend.
“Where’s Dave?”
“Oh, he quit.”
“Wow...Good for him.”
Then the rest of the break is in uneasy silence while we think about Dave. We’re proud of him, and secretly envious because he took a step we’re not ready (or willing) to take. Maybe we’ll talk about how he’s doing it. The patch? Gum? Cold turkey?! That crazy fucker.
We all wish him the best, but neither are we surprised if we see him outside again a few weeks or months later. We’ll give him shit, shake our heads in disappointment, but we won’t hesitate to hand him our lighter so he can be back in the group. Shit, we wouldn’t even fight him too hard if he asked for a cigarette. All he has to do is say he’s stressed out. Welcome back, Dave. How long did you last? Better luck next time.
I’d like to think this is my last time. It’s nice being able to smell things again. (My shampoo smells really good!) It’s certainly not easy, but then again, nothing worth doing is easy. Part of the fun for me is dissecting my withdrawals. Figuring out what’s going on in my head. I have a hard time breathing, but I know it’s because my body is getting used to the surplus oxygen. I know that pouring my cup of coffee triggers my cravings. I still reach for my pack when the phone rings. I still check my pockets for lighters when I leave the house. It’s amazing how much of everything I did revolved around smoking. I’m doing better with this quit than I did with my last one, and that’s a good thing. I’ll keep you posted.
***
Note: I wrote this days after I quit back in March. Still smoke free, just so's you know.
// posted by jess @ 4:48 PM 
Comments:
<< Home
smoke free (with an occasional bidi) since late june.
and yes, i liked smoking too. and i still miss it.
Post a Comment
and yes, i liked smoking too. and i still miss it.
# posted by 
: 7:56 AM
: 7:56 AM << Home
