Farewell, Benson & Hedges Menthol 100’s

It will be a month tomorrow that I quit smoking, but I realize that saying goodbye to smoking is like getting out of a bad relationship. We know it’s a bad relationship because we feel the often unspoken disapproval of our loved ones; we see the gnarly anti-smoking commercials on TV. (One of my favorite anti-smoking commercials had smokers turn into skeletons, and then the skeletons would fall off of a conveyer belt and onto a veritable skeleton mountain.) All smokers know that smoking is bad, but what non-smokers don’t know is just how good smoking can be. Hence, even a bad relationship is hard to get over.

There are several kinds of cigarette moments one can have, but I’m just going to illustrate a few:

Smoking to Get Away from Non-Smokers: Since to be a “polite smoker” you have to excuse yourself from non-smokers, this provides a perfect avenue for slipping away to indulge in your vice simply to indulge in a few minutes away from an onerous dinner party, etc.

Smoking to Meet Other Smokers: If you see an interesting-looking smoker, it is quite easy to find a segue into a conversation with that individual. Just ask for a light.

Smoking Socially: Smoking is extremely ritualistic in nature, and quite often you develop a social pattern with another smoker. The classic case in my life is T. We used to share coffee and cigarettes on Saturday mornings at the homestead, and I can no longer be a part of that. Similarly, I have a close friend who used to indulge in my sinfulness with me, and now we no longer share that. It makes me sad.

Smoking PeacefullY: Having a quiet cigarette to yourself is probably the quintessential smoking habit. It is a way to get away, a way to get a moment, a way to calm down. Last night, in fact, I had insomnia, and when I can outside on the patio, I was struck by the lack of cigarette in my hand. I just had to appreciate the fresh air, emphasis on “fresh.” The feeling that there was something missing was fleeting, but I felt the pinch nonetheless.

Smoking as Medication: Smoking to relieve stress is a classic reason people don’t quit. Smoking can be an antidote for anxiety, nervousness, boredom, any number of ills. Now I have to find new medicine, hopefully new medicine that isn’t food. I’ve taken up exercise.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of myself for quitting. But I know that every so often I’m going to feel a pang or a twinge. And I’m going to miss that occasional smoke with my friend on the roof of the El Cortez, or miss that cigarette with a glass of the best red wine in the world on my friend’s lush patio. These are moments that can’t be substituted for anything else.

They say that a person with mental illness lives ten years less than someone without. One of the main contributors is cigarettes.

I would like to be one of the people who changes that particular statistic.

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!