I'm a Quitter!

I passed by the Ibis Street Market on the way to my therapist’s office, a ritual I engage in every Friday. The market is owned by a couple of Greek guys, one who is an outrageous flirt who tells me how beautiful I am when buying baklava. I also stop at the Ibis Street Market to grab an Aquafina, or a Gatorade, or an iced tea, and always a pack of cigarettes, Benson & Hedges menthol 100’s. The woman who rings me up always has elaborately painted finger nails, and she is a sweetheart. We commonly exchange pleasantries, and she knows my brand. I like that.

Last Friday, however, strolling by the Ibis Street Market, I was reminded of the cigarettes that I quit three weeks before. I wondered if I should go into the store at all. After sober reflection, I decided not to go inside and make do with the teeny tiny cups at the water cooler in my therapist’s office. Better than facing reminders of my old life. But something tugged at my heart strings when I walked by. The market was now tainted, but I missed my little ritual that the cigarettes provided. I wasn’t really ready to go in and be reminded of indulging in my vice, and it made me sad.

It’s been three weeks now since I quit smoking, and I won’t get any real props until it’s been a month, I think. A month is a milestone that people respect.

Granted, no one ever thought I could quit, including me. So how did it happen?

I owe it all to my psychiatrist, Dr. T. During the days when I was taking a summer school class, I was having trouble with my memory and concentration. Dr. T., as part of her treatment, prescribed the anti-depressant Wellbutrin.

Wellbutrin and I were made for each other, it seems. My memory and powers of concentration increased right away, so quickly that my reading level skyrocketed, and I had no trouble in the rest of the class. What I also was figuring out about Wellbutrin was that it took away the craving for cigarettes. I found that the amount of cigarettes I smoked was declining, as if by magic. Moreover, the cigarettes I smoked didn’t pack the same punch. The medication seemed to take the “reward” away.

I didn’t actually decide to quit smoking. I just stopped. My mother and step-father and T. and I went on vacation to Mammoth, and the first day up there, I just didn’t have one. And the next day I didn’t have one. And the next day…

Then I realized I was onto something, that I could be free of the poison. So I quit.

I realize what I miss is the ritual, not the cigarette. There was something comforting about having a cigarette after work, or after a meal, or with a friend, or with T. It was a pleasurable activity.

As I said, tomorrow it will be three weeks.

When it’s a month, I’ll remind you, and we can celebrate!