August 17, 2011. A date which will live in infamy. It is the date I underwent hypnosis for the first time. It is the date I had my very last cigarette.
Today, I got stressed out. I caved. I bought smokes. I relapsed. I FUCKED UP. But don’t worry, I forgive myself. Because I was able to discover that smoking completely nauseated me. Yep. It made me puke. And I would rather go a lifetime without another cigarette than feel the way I feel right now. Of course, I’d rather go a lifetime without another cigarette for many other reasons, too, not the least of which is to prove to all the naysayers who never thought they’d see the day come when I could get totally plowed and not have a single drag from a smokie treat.
Yeah, I call them smokie treats. It’s much more adorable than “cancer sticks.” And much less of a cliché.
Oh, and I would also like to never, ever hear another person tell me I’m killing myself slowly or that the dangers of secondhand smoke are so powerful, I’m probably killing children in Africa. It’s not me killing children in Africa, ladies and gents, it’s AIDS. So stick a sock in it and donate some money to an AIDS charity. Do it now. You’ll feel better about yourself.
Just like I feel better about myself for having learned about the power of suggestion and the subconscious mind. My hypnotist knows his shit. I also feel better about myself knowing that I can do this. I can, nay, I DID kick this habit.
So now I have a nearly-full pack of cigarettes and plan on testing myself. Will I remember this awful feeling I have right now when I get my next craving? Will I get a next craving at all? Will that Arrested Development movie ever get made?
I know what you’re all thinking. “THROW THE PACK AWAY, YOU STUPID BITCH!” But where’s the challenge in that? I want to know that I have the ability to light up at any moment but choose not to.
The moral of the story here is obvious: It’s a lot easier to quit smoking if you don’t start in the first place. And stay in school, kids.