A History Of Smoking Fags

Posted on August 27, 2010

I am approaching my fourth week without a cigarette, I feel better, though my biggest battle in the weeks ahead will be with self righteousness rather that nicotine. I have stopped smoking before, sometimes for a day, or a week, and once for 6 years, before I stupidly smoked a Cafe Creme cigar on a boys weekend in Bulgaria which kicked off the whole downward spiral once again.

I firmly believe that smoking is a battle of will power over creature habits, rather than a false belief that we become addicted to nicotine. Patches, pills, and false cigarettes are in my opinion a load of old bollocks, and a marketing con to extract money out of people desperate to break the habit. Smoking is a comfort blanket, or a dummy for grown ups, children go for their comfort rags or dummies when they are stressed, or upset, adults do the same with fags. How many times have you seen someone fresh out of an argument, a car prang, or a sudden shock, reach for the comfort of fags. I often did it as my son was going out to bat at cricket, which is a bit pathetic really, but stressful all the same, though it would be a bit churlish to blame him for lung cancer.

My own addiction to the habit was largely based around social functions or relaxation, as I have rarely smoked during the day, or in the working environment since my early twenties, but put in a room with fellow smokers I was a complete an utter sheep, convincing myself that smoking 15 fags at a party was okay as long as I didn’t do it during the day. That’s what smokers do, they train themselves to lie to their own brain about the quantity of cigarettes they are passing through their system, I did it all the time to justify to myself that I was a light smoker.

What got me to quit this time was an all of the wall comment from my friend Nick Mabey in Broughton. After we had done a four mile fun run in Swanage, Nick was really impressed with my efforts, especially as I had been in the holiday smoking mode of at least 20 a day. He basically said this:

“Bob for someone who likes running, and who is good at it, I can’t believe you smoke. That makes you a bit of cunt really.”

Quite succinctly put don’t you think, and whether he did it on purpose on not, I am unsure, but it worked, it really struck home to me that yes, I was in fact, a bit of cunt. Everyday I wake up now I feel better about about myself, and every evening as I have a glass of red, the temptation for my comfort fag diminishes a little bit more, but I now know that I cannot, this time, make the costly error of just having an odd Cigar, smoking just doesn’t work like that.

Smoking is no respecter of creed or class and anyone trying to go down the route of non smoking has to realise that non smoking gimmicks don’t work, there is no miracle cure, it is a complete and utter mental strength battle, a bit like self hypnosis really. Stick as many patches over your body as you want, it will not work, I guarantee it, though a chap called Alan Carr may help you on your way. Click here

What drives me along now is the knowledge that if I smoke again, the self loathing I will suffer the next morning will be too much to take, as I will know that Nick was right after all, and I am in fact, a bit of cunt.

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