I’ve promised the world and my mother that I would do the good and stop smoking. You’ve seen my previous post where I promised and commited myself to give up the tobacco for good to invest in a newer, healthier me. To save all that money usually spent on the fags for something much more worthwhile and something I could keep that isn’t a memory of coughing, hacking and feeling sickly after chain-smoking the night/day before.
Oh how I’ve fallen.
I’d love to jump around with a spring in my step screaming from the roof-tops, that I, Danielle Moon have kicked-in that stinky unhealthy habit and been able to keep up that non smoking. But that would be a lie. Instead I did very well for a whole week (weekends included) until that party. That party changed it all. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know it was going to happen. It always does, well for me anyway. Two weeks ago Saturday I was invited to a friend’s party at the local. It was only supposed to be a few drinks and then offskies but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. It was going to be one of those nights, where alcohol encourages you to sing kareoke (when you wouldn’t dream of doing so ever before), puts you in some weird dancing mood that makes you dance like a crazy emo-pocessed teenager to an irish love song and lets you drivel on in a conversation that lacks anything good to say to some poor sod you’ve decided to bore at the bar. I had rushed into the pub utterly convinced I would never smoke, coz I’m oh-so-cool, I’ll be able to keep this up. It was fine for like an hour. Until my friend screamed from across the bar he wanted to chat but this could only involve sitting outside in the beer garden trying to breathe in the cloud of smoke. And here is where it went wrong. I could smell it and it wasn’t a nice smell. Not only could you smell the burning cigarette hanging from his mouth but also the smell off his clothes clinging to him like a baby chimp to its mother. He offered me one. I turned my nose up to it but feeling the urge I gave in and said “Oh go on then.” Seriously, where in my mind was I thinking that would make everything better. The taste was rank. Seriously rank. It felt like I licked the inside of an ashtrash. Friggin minging. The stupid thing was I continued after each puff forcing myself to smoke more but enjoying the next pull more and more after (it’s known I am weird). By the end of my 3rd drink of the night I had in fact bought a ten pack of mayfair and smoked my way through 6 whole cigarettes. I kept blaming the alcohol for my giving in. Hoping that the next day when alcohol consumption had ceased I would be able to step away from the fags and be smoke free. But I wasn’t.
Sunday proved to be a nightmare. At home, staying with my mum I don’t smoke. I would be killed by my own mother if I attempted to light up in the surroundings of my mother’s house. I’ve never done it nor would I ever dream to think of it. I had agreed to make lunch for family and on way to ASDA in the morning was fine until I met some friends who all puffed away happily on their fags smiling and looking super-cool. So I started smoking again. I’ve since smoked roughly 4-6 cigarettes a day and probably triple that when alcohol has been involved over the weekends. Something which I’m not proud about. AT ALL.
The worst of it all is I still don’t like it. As much as I hate, and I mean HATE it, I still do it. There’s a part of me that seriously is weird where I think it’s kinda cool to have a fag in my hand. The sort of cool that has graced the likes of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and James Dean in the movie Rebel Without a Cause. Except I look stupid. I’ve not smoked that long and it’s a foul foul foul habit but the younger self claims it’s cool, whilst the older self claims its not. Maybe I should take inspiration from Dean’s movie’s tag line and have this poster above my bed:
Because that’s what can happen. I won’t look cool then. So I’m going to try again and this time I really really need all of your help. I will tell you my reasons non smokers out there and you’ll agree but you must must must help me.
The reasons for wanting to quit in the first place:
They smell bad
They smell as bad or worse than the waste in the bin outside. Cigarettes stink. Really stink and they make you smell. That sickly stale cigarette odour that is like a haze formed around our being. If you’re not a smoker you can smell it on us. If like me, you have stopped for a while and not smoked. You start to notice how other people smell of the rank fume. The haze of smoke around them stands out and makes you fell sickly. No matter how groomed or how much you have spritzed yourself with a tonne of perfume or aftershave you can’t escape the powerful stench of cigarette smoke.
They pollute the earth
What do you do when you put your cigarette out? Escaping the glare of every non-smoker and shying away from the ol’ bill (for fining you if you litter the street), they create mess. An fugly sort of mess overtaking our London streets the same as different colours of chewing/bubble gum.
That alone should be a reason to quit. Through my youth I thought smoking was rank. I didn’t start till I was at least 18. I never had asthma when I was a child and now I do. Granted I’m not wheezing everyday and relying on tonnes of medication to keep me breathing but my health alone should be enough to kick me up my own backside and stop me doing it. I think my mum’s right when she says asthmatics who smoke shouldn’t complain the NHS don’t do enough to help. Pack in the fags and get healthy.
If you’re off to the pub/bar/nightclub with your mates (who most of them don’t smoke) and it’s shite weather outside, you look like a complete loser shivering outside. It’s a known fact. Plenty of times I’ve stood outside by myself looking uncool. Be honest I’m sure some of you have too. Plus it’s really unsocial to blow out a big cloud of smoke into your friend’s faces. As they cough and breathe in your fumes when they say they don’t mind. It’s bullshit. They do.
I don’t want to end up like Edina Monsoon in Ab Fab
The smoking part of Eddie not the drug pushing and alcoholic raver that she is. I don’t want to be an oldie with a taste for fags and walking round puffing away depending on cigarettes as if it were the last thing to do on earth. It’s not going to happen.
So here’s my thing, my note and urge for help. Help me all to stop puffing away and make me healthy again. I want to run for the bus without stopping half way and nearly passing out. I want to not smell of smoke and miss out of vital bits on convo with mates for stepping out for a fag on a night out. I want to be smoke free.