Day 1: Something You Hate About Yourself

Whilst browsing Skirt blogs, I ran across the “30 Days of Truth” challenge, and I thought I’d take a stab at it. Never hurts to have fresh writing material, right? With that said, here’s my contribution for Day 1:

Something You Hate About Yourself

I wish I could say I hate my Italian nose or cottage-cheese ass, but I don’t. I only moderately dislike those qualities. Hate, however, is a strong term, in my opinion. It’s the desire to wipe something out of existence. Choke it, drown it in Drano, set it on fire, and feel better for having done so. Before you start thinking I’m a homicidal maniac, let me say there’s only one thing I desire to treat so cruelly…

My smoking addiction.

What I wouldn’t give to have been born in the present generation, conditioned at an early age about the dangers of cigarettes. I wouldn’t have a constant, sore throat. My face would be its old, rosy hue, instead of yellow. My lips would be soft and red, rather than pale and rubbery. I would be able to shower whenever I felt like it, not one hour prior to a social engagement so as to minimize my stench.

I’d probably be rich, too. Well, probably not, but I digress…

I lit my first smoke when I was eighteen years old, invincible. Nothing can touch you at that age, right? You’ve got your whole future mapped out ahead of you, and the sky’s the limit. What problem is there in smoking, especially if all of your friends are doing so? No harm will come to you, so long as you’re wrapped in the blissful ignorance of youth.

I didn’t realize I was entering a trap, and that trap was designed to hold me prisoner for life. Sure I coughed from those first cigarettes, because my body was repulsed at the intrusion, but the cough wasn’t chronic. The headaches, dizziness, and sensation of razors in my throat weren’t chronic, either. Traps don’t work that way. Traps deceive. Traps have to deceive. Traps have to appear sweet at face value, or else risk losing their prisoner.

Would a mouse enter the cage if you didn’t plant some cheese at the gate? Nope.

There’s something terribly wrong when you cough, and a quarter-sized piece of brown phlegm shoots from your throat to your wall and sticks, like putty. There’s something even more wrong when that incident isn’t enough to help you stop whatever caused it. Don’t misunderstand; I’ve tried quitting, so much so that trying to quit has become a habit in and of itself. And with every failed attempt, I feel even more doomed to a lung cancer or heart disease diagnosis.

From my attempts at quitting, I’ve learned a lot about this addiction, such as:

·         Nicotine is a vasoconstrictor, which means it tightens the blood vessels, making it harder for the heart to circulate blood throughout the body.

·         The carbon monoxide in cigarettes is quickly absorbed by the red blood cells, thereby thickening the blood and (also) giving the heart a much harder job.

·         Cigarettes have more than 4,000 toxic chemicals which paralyze the cilia - tiny, brush-like mechanisms in the lungs designed to get rid of debris.

·         Carbon monoxide binds with the body’s hemoglobin, displacing oxygen carried by the blood to vital organs. As a result, the heart has to perform double duty to deliver a sufficient amount of o2.

·         Smoking sucks…literally and figuratively.

I also learned that a smoker cannot (I repeat, cannot) turn to a non-smoker for advice on quitting. Non-smokers have absolutely no idea what this monster is all about, and they tend to make the smoker feel foolish and stupid. On one count, the non-smoker is correct, because smoking is foolish. But a smoker is anything but stupid. A smoker is simply an adult who was once a wild child, made that first mistake of lighting up, and is now paying the price.

We know it’s killing us, yes. We know we ought to quit, yes. Now find me a priest who does nicotine exorcisms, and we’ll be good to go.

But I’ll keep trying to quit. I brought this weight upon myself, and I’ll bear its burden until I kill it or it kills me. I’m gonna try killing it (again) tomorrow. I've got my arsenal of gum, Twizzlers, carrots, and Tootsie Roll Pops ready and armed.

Wish me luck.