Today is my two months no smoking. Complete cold turkey from all sources of nicotine for 60 days. No gum, patch, prescription, lozenge or e-cigarette. I didn't wean myself down, change to a lighter cigarette, or a heavier one. I didn't sneak one during stressful times, give myself excuses or dig through an ashtray. I accepted my cravings for what they were, rode them out, and talked myself through.
I think about cigarettes every day. Sometimes I think about how grateful I am to not smoke. I love that I don't smell like cigarettes. I think about my health a lot, and hope and pray I didn't do too much lasting damage.
I think about smoking a lot. I miss inhaling smoke. I miss holding a cigarette in between my fingers. I miss the routine of it. What the hell?
I look at those things like a memory of an old, toxic friend. You know one of them? They made you feel like shit and you still continued to stay friends. You lost touch with them until you get a friend request on Facebook and you accept? Yeah. Cigarettes. I just have to remember to stay away. All the way. Not a single puff.
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