I fell off the wagon. I’ve smoked for the last 27 hours. I’m not going to beat myself up for it. I’m not going to deny that it happened. In fact, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long with the amount of stress I’ve been under as well as how much pain I’ve been in. For a few reasons, though, falling off the wagon has been a GOOD thing.
If I hadn’t fallen off the wagon I never would have realized how much better I feel when I don’t smoke. I know that seems silly but when you first quit all you can think about is the loss. Giving up an addiction (at least for me) is like losing a piece of myself. I don’t know if I’m going to be the same person, I don’t know if I’m going to think the same, I’ve spent the majority of my life as a smoker. It’s a scary thing to take something away that has habitually been there. The thing is, I am always me. Take me down to the bare minimum of vices, and I am still me. A bitchier, more tired, more emotional me, but in essence still me.
If I hadn’t fallen off the wagon I wouldn’t have realized how much I hate smoking. I hate taking the time to go outside and smoke. I hate smelling like it. I hate that I feel a burning in my throat. I hate having to take regular breaks to go smoke. I hate dependency. On anything.
Tomorrow I will start again as a non-smoker and I’ll have learned my lesson on it (hopefully). I don’t feel ashamed or like a failure. I feel like a student and that I learned a lesson.