Seven months

Seven months. It has been seven months  since I had my last cigarette at 1:00 in the afternoon on January 22, 2018. I left work early because I had come down with a fever; little did I know that a wicked sinus infection was brewing. It had me bedridden for five days.  Which meant that I hadn’t smoked in five days. I figured I had gotten over the worst part, so I decided to keep up with it. Boy was I wrong…the worst was yet to come!

Do you have any idea how many dents and holes were put into the walls and doors of my house by my fist? I’d get so crazy I’d end up punching the wall, full force, bare-fisted. I have a horrible temper to begin with, having nic fits and irritability certainly amplified it. I. Just. Wanted. A. Cigarette! The funny thing is, just typing this makes me want one. It is seriously an awful addiction and incredibly difficult to overcome.

But, I did.

I was texting with my dear friend, Craig and told him I had quit and that I was climbing the walls with cravings. He said I could do it because I was a badass. There it was—if Craig knew I was a badass, I had better live up to that name. So, I have.

Now, I smell good all of the time (Burberry perfume for nearly 30 years). I’m not at the mercy of cigarettes and clambering out the door to light up. I don’t even think about it most of the time now. It doesn’t even phase me while driving anymore. I was with my friend’s mom in Australia – my smoking buddy! – and I didn’t cave. That was tough, but I made it. It was the true test. And according to my stop smoking app, y’all are stuck with me 13 days longer on this earth since I quit. Sorry haters. The only bad thing is that I gained about 15 pounds (now go ahead and laugh at my expense, haters). But, I’m already on the move to lose it all by running and cutting sugar, so there. 😁💪🖕

Since I quit I have saved $1,170 and haven’t smoked 3,395 cigarettes. That blows my mind. So much time and money wasted in the 19 years that I smoked. But, I made a bad choice by starting and I can only hope that it doesn’t affect my health and life too much.

My Dad died from it, after all. And today would have been his 71st birthday.

So, thanks to my husband and kids for putting up with my psychotic episodes while having horrible nic fits. And thank you to Craig for knowing I’m a badass—your words echoed every time I wanted to throw in the towel.