Day 4 of Quitting

If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.

Dear Reader, you may think that this is some attempt at a dry January, a New Year’s resolution, or even (gasp) a step towards self-improvement. You would, however, be incorrect.

I only wish I had the willpower to flippantly decide to improve myself on an unremarkable Wednesday for no reason other than, ‘I should.’

Alas, this growth has very much been forced upon me through delightful circumstances.

(I remind myself of this as I pace around the room, pulling my hair out: delightful circumstances.)

The truth is, I’m quitting vaping (and smoking weed) because I’m flying to Australia to meet my boyfriend’s family in a week.

(If you’ve been following me for a while, you know how insane that whole sentence is… but that’s another blog post entirely.)

Vaping laws are different in Australia than they are in Canada. In Canada, I can walk into any vape shop (and most convenience stores), pick out a 20mg/ml bottle of fruity-flavoured nicotine juice, and be on my merry way.

In Australia (from what I understand) I need a prescription to either bring vaping products into the country, or purchase them while there, with the flavours being limited to mint or tobacco. Otherwise, cigarettes are kept expensive to deter people from picking up the bad habit.

Yes, I could pick up a pack of cigarettes, but it would come with it’s own set of downsides from the cost, to the taste, to the smell, to the high itself not being quite the same… it would ultimately be a net-negative.

On top of that, I realized that if I could barely get through an 8-hour shift without ducking out to puff on my nicotine vape every two hours, I was about to have a very difficult time not vaping over 25 hours worth of flights.

So, in December I began to ween myself off nicotine. I made the jump from 20mg/ml of nicotine to 3mg/ml of nicotine. I thought that would be the hardest step and that once I was vaping 3mg, the difference between 3mg of nicotine and air would be nearly imperceptible. Then, I switched to an air vape and realized just how wrong I was: yes, 20mg to 3mg is a big leap, but 3mg of nicotine is still 3mg of nicotine my body is crawling out of its skin for.

The first day of not smoking was a mix of anger and denial. I kept trying to force vape juice out of an empty vape bottle and would huff on an empty vape pod that tasted like burnt metal and lung damage. I sucked passive aggressively (and out-right aggressively) on my air vape going back and forth between, fuck this shit and bless this shit.

I didn’t want to quit, but also I had wanted to quit for a long time.

Unfortunately, I’m not someone who has successfully been able to smoke in moderation.

I reach for the vape at all times of the day: it’s the first thing I look forward to in the morning, and I cradle it with near binky-like dependency at night.

Sometimes I notice myself smoking my vape without even realizing it at first, only to leave me wondering just how long I had mindlessly been inhaling nicotine until I couldn’t even feel the high anymore.

Yes, nicotine itself is addictive… but I realized, so is the hand-to-mouth motion in a way, too.

On Day 1, I was antsy and couldn’t stop fidgeting with my air vape. I didn’t know what to do with my hands and so I would wring them and rub them together, scratch at my skin, and at some points I’m embarrassed to admit, I even hit my arms, in an attempt to get rid of the chaotic, aimless energy that refused to unstick from inside me. That, and also, to feel something:

Something other than frustration, anger, helplessness, shame, and desperation. I realized, I didn’t know where to put all of it, or any of it for that matter. I didn’t know how to sit with those feelings.

I looked for distractions. I went to the local bar and got dinner with my boyfriend after work. I cleaned. I took an edible to help with the unbearable sensation of sitting with myself. I swallowed my guilt. I slept.

When I woke up the next morning, I was cartoonishly furious to discover I still had nicotine cravings.

I’d naively hoped that I would wake up on Day 2, free of this hellish desire to run into oncoming traffic. Instead, it had only intensified.

The first half of my day (and most of the second half) were write-offs.

I paced, scrolled on my phone, ranted to myself, cried, and squirmed as unspecific anger thrashed around inside me.

I debated whether or not I really needed to quit.

Instead of caving though, I thought about how much worse this feeling would be on an airplane, or in front of my boyfriend’s family.

I thought about wanting to be a mother one day and how that meant I would have to quit smoking again eventually, anyways.

I thought about the freedom that comes along with not having an addiction.

I thought about the life I would have to exchange in order for the future I wanted to become a reality.

I thought myself in circles until I wanted to explode.

Instead of exploding, I started to tinker with something creative, even though I cursed the whole way through it.

Instead, I took a long shower and did a face mask. I put on some makeup. I picked up a massive haul of sour candies and chocolates from the general store down the road, and walked to my boyfriend’s apartment where we watched a true crime series together.

I still stood by the window to smoke my air vape between episodes, just to do it.

I ate a chocolate bar in the middle of the night and didn’t feel bad about it.

I searched for little hits of dopamine that weren’t strawberry-flavoured clouds of poison.

On the morning of Day 3, I still had cravings, but they weren’t as bad as the first two days. I still found myself aggressively fidgeting with my air vape and rubbing my hands together. I was still antsy, but able to feel my feelings more clearly: anxiety and boredom, masked as anger.

Frustration.

There’s sadness also, though:

Why is it so hard for me to spend time with me?

As I look for ways to provide myself with dopamine and distractions, I am reminded of a younger version of myself, the one who spent her time reading and writing, playing, creating, taking photographs and videos, practicing make-up and doing her nails… and I can’t help but see everything I let smoking replace, laid out in front of me; the life and hobbies I took away from myself in exchange for the cheap and easy thrills of vaping and scrolling on my phone.

Cheap Thrills by Sia

I would like to say I’ll never vape again. The depressing truth is though, that despite knowing my life will be better without it, it’s still hard for me to mentally throw away the idea of vaping completely; to make that large of a commitment feels like too much for me right now.

The experience admittedly gives me more compassion for everyone who is trying to quit a substance of any sort: it is a daunting journey and I understand why so many struggle with it.

I know this whole piece sounds dramatic and the truth is, it is dramatic. It feels ridiculous and embarrassing and humbling to be held in such a tight grip by something so seemingly innocuous.

There are harder substances to be addicted to and to quit, there are more vicious withdrawals to face, and deadlier vices to reckon with. I think though, this is also part of what makes it so hard to talk about quitting vaping; I can’t help but feel shame in admitting I struggle so much with something that seems so harmless in comparison to what’s out there. But if writing about this helps me get through today, then that’s a win.

Yes, the goal is to stop vaping entirely… but right now, my goal is to make it until tomorrow.

I’m holding that AA nugget of gold, close:

One day at a time…

For now, I’m proud of making it to Day 4.

And if writing about my uncomfortable and embarrassing experience of quitting helps someone else’s Day 1, then it is all the more worth it.

Have you ever quit smoking? Share any tips or tricks you have in the comment section below!