The time has come to end this vicious cycle of abuse.
I'm what leading behavioral psychologists working with the world's top tobacconists refer to as, 'an addict'.
I'm struggling with this. You might have noticed my, shall we say 'absence'. Clearly things are not the same here in the land of Next Tuesday. What was at first so satisfying is now, well, just fucking difficult. It use to be easy. It use to be fun! I don't know when the effortlessness lost the lessness, becoming more than it's fucking worth, but it did. And now it's done. And here we are.
Grieve for my cynicism. I barely understood how to spell it.
Like many of us lucky enough to be leading a life of comfort, privilege and circumstantial good fortune, I've made a habit of completely fucking myself (un-fun style) with excessively unhealthy lifestyle choices. The super-fun ones that are carefree and sophisticated, as well as other forms of irony.
Let's consider a dumb idea: Conditioning. This happened 'to' me. It was out of 'my control'.
I had all of the basics of survival handed to me on the most silver plated of platters and enough of a brain to recognize not only my good fortune, but also an awareness that what I was doing was bad for me. And I responded by rejoicing in addiction with a level of enthusiasm likened to true believers at the Church of Sing-A-Long Gospel. Each inhalation was a mission to draw more of the comforting poison into my being. After all, it felt good and filled in all the gaps. Exhalations ignited a sense of accomplishment, achievement - I did it!
Gradually I was transformed. I became my own empowered representation of the awesome thing that I was doing. It was who I was and I was proud of who I was and I understood who I was and what I was doing and - thank you for your concern - but it's okay, ok, 'cause I know, you know? I'm me. I'm a smart person and I know and it's okay because I'm a smart person and I know.
And then years went by. And then one day it occurred to me that more than half my life had gone by. And my intellectualisation continued and my ability to use words to make my stupidity seem like all sorts of poetic beauty was as easy as lighting up another cigarette.
Did this happen to me? Is addiction something I learned how to do? Was it simply an example of how my genetic code hardwires my personality? Because, of course, I'm not in control of the who, how or what I do, done and am....am I? Would I love to believe that so I could live a life that was without accountability?
The mind is melded by more than the abilities of parents, the quality of schools, the variety of the feathers it rests on and the people responsible for the 'getting busy' that got me here. And none of these questions have answers anyway. So let's pivot perception and ponder that perhaps explanation is found in how I made it stop (If indeed that's what I did do).
One day, not too long ago now, I breathed in the wrong spot on the train and inhaled something that for once was to my benefit - an illness that knocked me out for around about 30 hours. During this time I was incapable of, well, anything really. It was that variety of sick that was all fever and shakes. I could barely dress myself let alone muster the energy to consume a cigarette. In fact, for that 30 hour window it didn't actually occur to me to have one.
And then I recovered. I could enjoy delicious solids once again. They tasted better than usual. I had been given my first day without a cigarette, without exercising any effort at all.
Recognising that opportunity exists has always been easy. Making a choice and committing myself to an idea is a different story.
The choice in front of me was about change. Change is something I was use to - it was that inevitable thing that was going to happen to everyone and everything. But few and far between was the choice to change. The opportunity the illness afforded me was a chance to control the change. Instead of having it forced upon me or happen around me - this time it would be a conscious decision, from the inside, executed deliberately.
"Today I won't smoke."
Cravings were surprisingly minimal. Seriously. I'm actually a little weirded out by how few there were. They were just thoughts. Poking at me and trying to get my attention like some sort of outdated Facebook functionality. They kinda sounded like this: 'I WANT TO SMOKE I WANT TO SMOKE I WANT TO SMOKE NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK'. Like a child throwing a tantrum in the supermarket. I embraced the child as needed. His little tantrum made sense. I gave him a hug and told him it would be okay. I knew it was temporary and true to form the tantrums didn't last long.
I understood that my triggers weren't going anywhere - there would always be a reminder of the habit, something to be annoyed at, bored by - or whatever 'thing' that instigated the action. Those things (the ones that are not me) weren't going anywhere, so part of the choice was to make room for them. Triggers became reminders of the choice I had made. Reminders became meditations. Meditation made my thoughts stronger and eventually it evolved into a resolve that could be sent into battle against the dwindling urge to smoke. After a time it became obvious that winning these battles was very easy, so I gradually upped the anti by re-introducing things like 'alcohol' and 'being social'. The short story is, it worked.
To any smoker who might be reading this looking for advice, it is without a doubt a mind-game and like our good friend Dr. Seuss understood, "you play against you." This game can be only be won by transforming your mind. At it's core the task is simple: disgard the idea you have committed to and commit to what is essentially the opposite idea. (Side-note: Simple doesn't mean easy!) The way you play is up to you. The way your mind works, the logic you have, the opinions, beliefs, values, what you like, what you don't, your favourite fucking anything and everything else - all of this is who you are as an individual (and it's beautiful). Consequently, the way you commit to/disregard an idea is going to be different to how I do it.
But I do know one thing about you: You can have, be or do anything you want. The trick? You just have to believe you can. It's annoyingly fucking simple. Like lighting a cigarette...
There's a new unit of measure in town and it's called loss. It is perhaps the mightiest instigator for change that I am aware of. It breaks through the most stubborn of genetic hardwiring and erodes the most violent of conditioning.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, my senses work properly and everything that I have lost can be tasted, smelt, and indeed felt. My dead dad, my first love, my puberty, my cat buried in the backyard, my virginity, failed career attempts, failed friendships, failed value systems (wait, did I just suggest that I can smell my lost puberty? Ponder that one, Internet.) Everything that I've ever defined myself with, drawn comfort from, or was influenced by; essentially those things of 'value' that are no longer present.
You know that annoyingly chipper phrase that has all made us want to punch someone in the face, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? Well, what's your choice? Did you realise you had one? Did you realise you were making one?
Choice A:
The shit that you go through and reach the 'other side' of (or whatever) made you stronger somehow. You have gained +5 "I'm an Awesome person" points. Congratulations! You may continue being alive.
Choice B:
You reach the 'other side' of the shit you were going through (or whatever) but it affects you in such a way that you're less Awesome than your were, or whatever characteristic you care about, that makes you the difference between 'you' & You. You have lost +5 "I'm an Awesome person" points. Congratulations! You may continue being alive.
Clarification
In no way do I mean, nor endorse, the act of deflecting feeling the 'shit you were going through'. Au contraire, I wholeheartedly endorse the act of feeling the 'shit'. I further more advocate that it is important you do so. This 'choice' I refer to occurs on the 'other side' of the feeling. Embrace the shit.
I can now recognise that the best of me seems to be tethered to something shitty that has changed me. Something shitty, or fucked up, or unfair, something I've lost, something taken away, something painful that caused a trauma. The ones that I've embraced and 'got through' make me better. The most obvious example is that I'm a better person than before my dad died. Embracing this very painful loss transformed me for good.
Do we need trauma to change? Nope.
Can we use it as opportunity? Yep.
Is it gonna happen whether you like it or not? You bet cha.
Now for the piece de resistance:
My cynicism and my smoking are tied together. My cynicism and my smoking have always been methods for deflecting the shit instead of embrace it. As much fun as it is to point out that Chris Brown and Rihanna's relationship is fucked up, I think what I was really doing is just distracting myself from the greater problem, namely, problems. With the nicotine out of my system, cynicism just feels like I'm consuming the product exactly how I'm meant to. I'm meant to be distracted by it. I'm supposed to pour my energy into disliking it. Preventing, perhaps, something constructive? A nap would be more constructive.
I, along with the rest of the world, face legitimate issues that are deeper than illegitimate journalism. And these problems need to be embraced for what they are.
So this is goodbye, old pal. To everyone who has encouraged and supported me in this process, thank you. Sincerely and dearly!
You will hear from me again. It just won't be Next Tuesday.
Dx
Let's consider a dumb idea: Conditioning. This happened 'to' me. It was out of 'my control'.
I had all of the basics of survival handed to me on the most silver plated of platters and enough of a brain to recognize not only my good fortune, but also an awareness that what I was doing was bad for me. And I responded by rejoicing in addiction with a level of enthusiasm likened to true believers at the Church of Sing-A-Long Gospel. Each inhalation was a mission to draw more of the comforting poison into my being. After all, it felt good and filled in all the gaps. Exhalations ignited a sense of accomplishment, achievement - I did it!
Gradually I was transformed. I became my own empowered representation of the awesome thing that I was doing. It was who I was and I was proud of who I was and I understood who I was and what I was doing and - thank you for your concern - but it's okay, ok, 'cause I know, you know? I'm me. I'm a smart person and I know and it's okay because I'm a smart person and I know.
And then years went by. And then one day it occurred to me that more than half my life had gone by. And my intellectualisation continued and my ability to use words to make my stupidity seem like all sorts of poetic beauty was as easy as lighting up another cigarette.
Did this happen to me? Is addiction something I learned how to do? Was it simply an example of how my genetic code hardwires my personality? Because, of course, I'm not in control of the who, how or what I do, done and am....am I? Would I love to believe that so I could live a life that was without accountability?
The mind is melded by more than the abilities of parents, the quality of schools, the variety of the feathers it rests on and the people responsible for the 'getting busy' that got me here. And none of these questions have answers anyway. So let's pivot perception and ponder that perhaps explanation is found in how I made it stop (If indeed that's what I did do).
One day, not too long ago now, I breathed in the wrong spot on the train and inhaled something that for once was to my benefit - an illness that knocked me out for around about 30 hours. During this time I was incapable of, well, anything really. It was that variety of sick that was all fever and shakes. I could barely dress myself let alone muster the energy to consume a cigarette. In fact, for that 30 hour window it didn't actually occur to me to have one.
And then I recovered. I could enjoy delicious solids once again. They tasted better than usual. I had been given my first day without a cigarette, without exercising any effort at all.
Recognising that opportunity exists has always been easy. Making a choice and committing myself to an idea is a different story.
The choice in front of me was about change. Change is something I was use to - it was that inevitable thing that was going to happen to everyone and everything. But few and far between was the choice to change. The opportunity the illness afforded me was a chance to control the change. Instead of having it forced upon me or happen around me - this time it would be a conscious decision, from the inside, executed deliberately.
"Today I won't smoke."
Cravings were surprisingly minimal. Seriously. I'm actually a little weirded out by how few there were. They were just thoughts. Poking at me and trying to get my attention like some sort of outdated Facebook functionality. They kinda sounded like this: 'I WANT TO SMOKE I WANT TO SMOKE I WANT TO SMOKE NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK'. Like a child throwing a tantrum in the supermarket. I embraced the child as needed. His little tantrum made sense. I gave him a hug and told him it would be okay. I knew it was temporary and true to form the tantrums didn't last long.
I understood that my triggers weren't going anywhere - there would always be a reminder of the habit, something to be annoyed at, bored by - or whatever 'thing' that instigated the action. Those things (the ones that are not me) weren't going anywhere, so part of the choice was to make room for them. Triggers became reminders of the choice I had made. Reminders became meditations. Meditation made my thoughts stronger and eventually it evolved into a resolve that could be sent into battle against the dwindling urge to smoke. After a time it became obvious that winning these battles was very easy, so I gradually upped the anti by re-introducing things like 'alcohol' and 'being social'. The short story is, it worked.
To any smoker who might be reading this looking for advice, it is without a doubt a mind-game and like our good friend Dr. Seuss understood, "you play against you." This game can be only be won by transforming your mind. At it's core the task is simple: disgard the idea you have committed to and commit to what is essentially the opposite idea. (Side-note: Simple doesn't mean easy!) The way you play is up to you. The way your mind works, the logic you have, the opinions, beliefs, values, what you like, what you don't, your favourite fucking anything and everything else - all of this is who you are as an individual (and it's beautiful). Consequently, the way you commit to/disregard an idea is going to be different to how I do it.
But I do know one thing about you: You can have, be or do anything you want. The trick? You just have to believe you can. It's annoyingly fucking simple. Like lighting a cigarette...
There's a new unit of measure in town and it's called loss. It is perhaps the mightiest instigator for change that I am aware of. It breaks through the most stubborn of genetic hardwiring and erodes the most violent of conditioning.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, my senses work properly and everything that I have lost can be tasted, smelt, and indeed felt. My dead dad, my first love, my puberty, my cat buried in the backyard, my virginity, failed career attempts, failed friendships, failed value systems (wait, did I just suggest that I can smell my lost puberty? Ponder that one, Internet.) Everything that I've ever defined myself with, drawn comfort from, or was influenced by; essentially those things of 'value' that are no longer present.
You know that annoyingly chipper phrase that has all made us want to punch someone in the face, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? Well, what's your choice? Did you realise you had one? Did you realise you were making one?
Choice A:
The shit that you go through and reach the 'other side' of (or whatever) made you stronger somehow. You have gained +5 "I'm an Awesome person" points. Congratulations! You may continue being alive.
Choice B:
You reach the 'other side' of the shit you were going through (or whatever) but it affects you in such a way that you're less Awesome than your were, or whatever characteristic you care about, that makes you the difference between 'you' & You. You have lost +5 "I'm an Awesome person" points. Congratulations! You may continue being alive.
Clarification
In no way do I mean, nor endorse, the act of deflecting feeling the 'shit you were going through'. Au contraire, I wholeheartedly endorse the act of feeling the 'shit'. I further more advocate that it is important you do so. This 'choice' I refer to occurs on the 'other side' of the feeling. Embrace the shit.
I can now recognise that the best of me seems to be tethered to something shitty that has changed me. Something shitty, or fucked up, or unfair, something I've lost, something taken away, something painful that caused a trauma. The ones that I've embraced and 'got through' make me better. The most obvious example is that I'm a better person than before my dad died. Embracing this very painful loss transformed me for good.
Do we need trauma to change? Nope.
Can we use it as opportunity? Yep.
Is it gonna happen whether you like it or not? You bet cha.
Now for the piece de resistance:
My cynicism and my smoking are tied together. My cynicism and my smoking have always been methods for deflecting the shit instead of embrace it. As much fun as it is to point out that Chris Brown and Rihanna's relationship is fucked up, I think what I was really doing is just distracting myself from the greater problem, namely, problems. With the nicotine out of my system, cynicism just feels like I'm consuming the product exactly how I'm meant to. I'm meant to be distracted by it. I'm supposed to pour my energy into disliking it. Preventing, perhaps, something constructive? A nap would be more constructive.
I, along with the rest of the world, face legitimate issues that are deeper than illegitimate journalism. And these problems need to be embraced for what they are.
So this is goodbye, old pal. To everyone who has encouraged and supported me in this process, thank you. Sincerely and dearly!
You will hear from me again. It just won't be Next Tuesday.
Dx
I had written lengthy comment, and then lost it. And then I lost it.
ReplyDeleteSo, just to say I think this blog tells me you can write honestly, creatively an interestingly with a pace that does not elude the reader, but hops alongside them happily with a rather cheeky grin on the one side, and an expression of perplexity on the other.
Life is complex, full of suffering and often tedious. It is also flipped on its side, the reverse, which is simple, full of joy and interesting.
Blogs like this say so much about what it is to be human, and also what it is to be genuinely alive.
You "write bright", which I recall the editors of the Whole Earth Catalogue recommended. It stands out. Thanks for the blog.
Stefan