I guess it doesn’t sound like much, especially compared to how long I smoked, but it is a quarter of a year, and that feels significant.
I had no idea this was going to be so hard, not just breaking the addiction, which will probably never go away completely, but also the violent mood swings, the chemical warfare being waged in my brain as it tries to cope with its waning desire for poison, my lungs finally beginning to heal, the unsettling calm that comes from not having to go outside to smoke, the sense of shame for having exposed everyone, including myself, to a filthy habit for so many years.
Along this journey I have learned one vitally important lesson. Smoking is not cool. I have not made a sacrifice. I have not given up something good. Instead, I am finally free of a form of slavery that was destroying my life, my health and my bank account. Every time I feel an urge or get a craving, I remind myself of that. I look better, I smell better, sometimes I even feel better. I am free at last.