That's Incentive

It is well-documented that quitting smoking often causes some unpleasant immune responses in the body, but it's largely downplayed. I had almost forgotten how lousy I feel during the first two weeks of any quitting attempt: I get canker sores all over my mouth so that eating is difficult; it becomes painful to swallow; I hack up mucous of so many different colors it seems I should start a curiosity collection; my ears itch and ring; my back aches where my lungs sit protesting inside; I can't breathe through my nose; my eyes are plastered shut when I wake up each morning; my energy stores nearly disappear.

Pair those symptoms with the cold that's making the rounds here and I think it's safe to say I'm miserable today. I can't get comfortable inside or outside, upright or lying down, eating or hungry, with hot liquids or cold.

It's difficult to power through this when you know it's a result of quitting a bad habit. You'd hope that walking away from those toxins would lead to positive physical results. Super human strength, you know? Song birds landing on your pointer finger Disney-stye. An increased social life, immediately whiter teeth, cleaner fingernails, the persistent taste of fresh mint upon your tongue. Clearer vision. Rainbows. The sudden advent of unicorn-watching excursions, giving the whales a break.

But it makes sense that that's not what happens. First of all, birds mistrust us because we eat and sic our dogs on them, and unicorns don't exist (sorry, Ryan). Secondly, my body is expelling everything nasty I've put into it. But as much sense as it may make, it's still a pretty lousy incentive to quit. In fact, in college, I used to smoke menthol cigarettes when I got a chest cold because I was convinced it helped me to expectorate. And I suspect I may have been onto something.

There's so much waiting involved in quitting smoking, so much invisible and constant effort. People who haven't been addicted to nicotine probably don't even register half of the internal struggle in front of them when someone attempts to quit. It's a physical, habitual, emotional, mental and willful battle. It's so easy to justify going back to it again and again because if smoking makes you feel like a bad person, quitting makes you feel like a worse one. Someone with no patience, compassion, energy, work ethic, strength or sanity. Your virtues all but disappear, and the ugliness inside you becomes magnified.

Those struggles may wane in intensity, but they persist in some form for weeks, months, years. My longest quit was nearly six years, and I still fought with myself every time it would have been easy to bum a smoke off of a stranger, every time I entered a liquor store that sold clove cigarettes, every time I went to a gas station to fuel up. Every time I lost patience or felt socially anxious, my mind suggested to me that I smoke to take the edge off. With every stressful job situation, every minor misunderstanding between myself and a friend or partner, came the seemingly-rational imperative to smoke.

The same is true now, of feeling ill as a result of my quitting. I have made excuses left and right for myself to postpone quitting, buying one more pack: my sister will be in town and I don't want to be cranky with her; I have graduate school applications to fill out and I need to be at my mental and emotional best to begin them; the month of May is difficult for me and there's no sense in trying to quit now, as I'd surely be more successful at a time that isn't so rife with bad or trying memories.

Luckily, I've been through this enough times that I know my own tricks. So I may be a Whole Lot of Not Fun for an indeterminate amount of time, but I'll make up for it later. When I'm healthy again and convinced by my own strength and perseverance. Nothing--and I do mean nothing--beats being genuinely proud of myself.