Saying goodbye to my dirty little secret

I hate to admit it, but the first time I tried a cigarette, I was in junior high. Eighth grade to be exact, and I thought I was the coolest kid on the playground. Casual puffs from shared smokes gradually escalated into the constant weight of a pack in my pocket, and before I knew it, I was hooked.

Over the past 10 years, I’ve tried quitting many times. Some attempts were half-heartedly faked to please those around me. Others were legitimate endeavours. But for whatever reason, I always turned back to the horrible habit that has been my dirty little secret for far too long.

Of course, the fact that I’m a smoker is hardly a secret at all. Friends are well aware that I always need to stop outside and have a smoke before entering a building. My parents pretend not to be furious with my poor health choices when I “pop out back to check the structural integrity of the deck.” Even my instructors at school have made kind-hearted – yet half-serious – comments about staging an intervention because it appears that I’m always glued to the same section of pavement outside RRC’s south doors.

No, everyone knows I am a smoker, and that collective knowledge is one of the reasons I’m actually serious about giving up smoking once and for all.

Before my time, smoking was actually cool. Everyone did it, and it was an accepted part of life. Now, there is so much information available about what smoking does to people that I feel like a complete moron every time I throw $13 away on a pack of cigarettes. Smokers don’t tell people they’re smokers anymore. They hide around the corner at lunch, praying no one will catch them polluting their bodies. In today’s society, it’s not cool to smoke.

And, I seriously want to be cool.

No matter where I go or what I do throughout my life, I’ll always be a smoker. An ex-smoker, sure, but still a smoker nonetheless. I can’t go back in time and erase the decade of damage I’ve subjected my lungs to; nor can I forget the amazing taste of a freshly-lit cigarette with my morning coffee. Some things can’t be changed; therefore I must move forward and make smart decisions for my future.

I wish someone would have told me at 14 - when I picked up my first cigarette - that I was making a lifelong commitment that would affect everything in my life.

Oh, wait. Someone did. I was just too stubborn to listen, like most other teenagers. Well, my parents, teachers, family, and friends were all right, and I shouldn’t have been so determined to rebel.

It has been 15 days, 16 hours, and 10 minutes since my last cigarette. I know, it’s barely a beginning, but this is a monumental milestone for me. Two of my classmates – who were supposed to be my quitting partners – have already turned back to smoking, which makes me even more determined to succeed.

I’m sure that I will post quite a few more quitting posts throughout my struggle, but writing about what I’m going through will hopefully eliminate some of the pressure. One way or another, I’m going to do this, because I’m truly sick of lying about my dirty little secret.