When I was 17, I went off to Europe for a year, returning to America just before my 18th birthday. I wanted to show my mother that I was now a mature adult. So before I came back, I taught myself to smoke. My logic was simple: I was a dork, and I figured this was a really good way to make me cool.
It wasn’t easy to start smoking. The first time I tried, I was sitting on a dock overlooking a majestic Norwegian fjord, and I bummed a cigarette from some of my friends. I very maturely put it between my lips, lit it like a pro, and blew the smoke out.
Then my friend Camilla pointed out that I had to inhale the smoke for the full coolness effect. I took a drag, inhaled, and coughed nonstop for five minutes while tears streamed down my face. Then I emptied the contents of my stomach into the majestic Norwegian fjord.
Eight years later, my friends still won’t let me forget it. I wasn’t about to let cigarettes get the best of me. If my friends could handle smoking, then dammit, I could too. After a week of trying, I was able to take a drag without gagging, and after two weeks, I could actually smoke a whole cigarette. I was now officially cool.
I returned to America, and as soon as I got off the plane, found my luggage, and hugged the family, I walked outside and very casually lit up a smoke. My mother rolled her eyes. To my supreme disappointment, all she muttered was “Moron.” The only other thing she ever said about my smoking was that if I ever lit up in her house, she would hire somebody to beat me to death. I still believe her.
So, after eight years of watching my teeth turn a beautiful yellow color, and coughing up stuff that would have grossed out Howard Stern, I decided to quit.
My first attempt at quitting involved the nicotine gum. It sounded logical, but you never hear anyone factor in the taste of that stuff. Nicotine gum is a lot like that pepper gum we used to trick our friends with in grade school.
It burns your mouth, and then, if you accidentally swallow it, it bounces halfway back up your esophagus every two seconds until you digest it. Then the fun starts. ‘Nuff said.
Attempt two was just as bad. I tried the nicotine patch, which is the equivalent of pepper gum for your flesh. Plus, they cannot be removed without ripping off hair and skin. So that idea went out the window.
Then I tried the cold turkey method, since I was dating a guy who had serious issues with my smoking. To keep him, I just stopped, cold. I immediately developed a rabid attitude problem and gained 20 pounds. I lost the boyfriend anyway, but I really can’t blame him. I was suffering from road rage ? in lecture halls.
Attempt No. 4: Zyban. For those of you who aren’t familiar, this is an antidepressant that somehow seems to quell the urge to smoke. The Zyban started out fine. For about three minutes. The problem is, if you aren’t depressed to start, Zyban will perk you up a little more than you want. I stopped sleeping, so I got a prescription for Valium.
After a week of Zyban, I stopped smoking. Now my body was lacking the chemicals it depended on for eight years, and I developed headaches. I begin taking Tylenol. And caffeine pills to counteract the Valium. I became a walking chemical imbalance. I didn’t become psychotic like when I quit cold turkey, but I began to forget things. Like to undress before getting in the shower.
Over time, I have been able to cut down on the meds, and so far have been successful at staying smoke-free. Had I known what hell it would be to quit, I wouldn’t ever, ever have started. See, everyone argues that they won’t get addicted when they start, but I beg to differ. Not one person, ever, has begun smoking with the intention of getting hooked. It just sneaks up on you.
So I guess the reason I am writing this is to warn all the younger, more impressionable people on campus: Don’t start smoking. It really does look stupid. If smoking is cool, I think I’ll stick to being a dork. At least it’s familiar territory, and besides, I’ll live longer.
Taniquelle Thurner ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in English.
