Happy & Healthy

Then you stop smoking

It was Sunday morning after three packs of Marlboro Light (a party, then). I was drinking some coffee and before I knew it, I was standing with a cigarillos on my balcony. Ieeeehww, how disgusting it was. My lungs felt like one big, blue bruise. Mamma mia, so I stopped smoking.

You shouldn't think that at that moment, right away, I put out my cigarette. No, there was some mindfucking (in a gray cloud) that preceded it. The nicotine patches were ready in the drawer, the KWIT app was on the home screen of my iPhone, my friend was mobilized and everyone knew it. That helps, they can support you. Uhuh.

Stopped: for 3 months. Saved: €733 (ka-ching). Not smoked: 2211 cigarettes (holy fuckemoly). Life: 2 extra weeks. CO: 2 days. That's 116 whole days, 9 long hours, 43 slow minutes and a few seconds, and then minus the hours and evenings that I, weakling, still smoked. I smoke when you smoke, seeing smoking makes you smoke and more of that weakling talk. By the way, my quit-smoking app thinks I don't know a moment of weakness, I let it stay in that illusion.

”I'm the biggest antisocial at parties. There I am, really in the middle of a conversation, I just walk away. Just going to smoke, be right back.”

And do you know what I found out? I haven't been a sociable, fun smoker for years (but really for years). It stinks, people, even if you think it doesn't because you're popping mints. You just stink. I'm the biggest antisocial at parties. There I am, really in the middle of a conversation, I just walk away. “Just going to smoke, be right back.” That's really not nice of me, is it? And I get cranky from that smoking, I smoke my whole Saturday morning into the air. Piefpafpoef, gone.

Yeah, pretty okay idea to stop. But difficult, DIFFICULT. And what a party-in-a-party it is to stand in the rain with your smoking squad. Oh, and then that smell. Nice, ni-ce. Or on Saturday morning with some coffee in the sun on the balcony, so nice. You understand, my inner smoker and inner non-smoker still need to talk to each other. And I'm back with the baked cigarette. No, I mean pears, pears.

Written by Adeline Mans