Feeling the fire of nicotine withdrawal as I write this. This withdrawal is hitting dead center of my brain, like a piece of glowing charcoal dropped in, and my chest, like a vise. Every moment is a scream.
There’s no tossing and turning, no sweats like with alcohol and other drugs, just agony in my mind and waves of justification to pick back up. I didn’t know I still carried a reserve of self-deception so deep. But it’s talking to me. Screaming. Justifying the relapse in hundreds of promising ways.
I attended a support group, tried to express myself. Failed. I’m stuttering. Confused. Whatever is in play biologically, neurologically, I’m not all there.
I’m grateful for reaching out on Twitter, also my homies, local supports, before I stopped I asked for help. Partly for accountability too.
If I make it a few more hours, day three is in the books.
Part of me knows whatever gets thrown at me, I can overcome, but right now, it’s wave after wave. Relentless.
I frequently use humor to help get through, and realized I need my core ramped up to something stronger.
Actually that’s why I’m changing things up. The challenge. To get into a better space. I probably could drag tobacco use out a while longer, but I was tired of every decision being shaded by the need to guard my tobacco consumption.
So there’s a freedom there. I just don’t know what that is gonna look like, feel like, or live like yet. But thanks to the rooms, and people around the various recovery communities, I have more faith than not the waves of agony will end.
I just picked a helluva year to quit tobacco.