It's been 2.5 days of almost hell.
The three day nicotine withdrawal clincher.
Been chewing gum like a motherfucker.
The three day I'll Fucking Bite Your Head Off And Spit Out The Sinew period. The three day constant feeling of something missing. The three day insatiable urge to stuff your face.
(Sorry, who ate all the pies this weekend? Peas did. And now, as a result, is on another crash diet this week.)
The three day, 'WTF am I going to do not to smoke?' Allen Carr is good for various reasons. But it's not going to take away the shitty withdrawal feeling. Nothing will, come on.
(Shop. Scrub the bath tub. Eat. Shop more and buy stupid sunglasses. Pull your hair out. Wank. Watch TV. Wank. Take another bath. Alphabetise your CD collection)
If I make it past 1:00pm this afternoon, I'd have done the worst. For this addiction – the freebasing of nicotine – is fucking hard to stop.
It's amazing how uncomfortable and crazy you feel without it. Fuck.
I went to bed at 7:30pm on Friday.
I went to bed at 7:30pm on Friday. Dude.
I haven't done that since I was 4 years old. Barney had a better Friday than I did. I just couldn't face being nice to people.
I would've got lucky. Yes. It really was a touch and go.
But realised with pure relief as I entered my home, I'd made the right decision to leave: Thank fuck I'm single. I don't have to please anyone, I don't have to fucking pretend to take an interest in a Napover's life. I can go to bed grumpy, mourning the loss of my frenemy, the cigarette.
I feel the relief of being single. I feel this quite often these days.
Just as I quit smoking, and my tolerance levels are fucked: Suddenly why does everyone want a piece of me? Arrrgh. Seriously. Let me deal with my cold turkey alone please. Please.
My strike rate, I've realised, is suddenly sitting at an all-time low. As in, pick a number and stand in the queue.
But what frustrates me is this: I have found myself giving various men the whole fucking 'no thanks' speech lately. Ad. Min.
The whole, 'sorry man, actually, no.' And I am frustrated, because it would be easier maybe to like just one of them. Or easier if I just didn't have to say anything, but I have to. And it's always awkward.
The guy I do like, I'm just steering way clear of.
And other nice guys live, like, in other countries.
So, yeah. It's suddenly like water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Ferfucksakes.
Although, it would be nice...on that note...now that I'm three days in...to test out how great it tastes to kiss somebody. It would also take my mind off the cigarettes themselves.
Back to the Little Nicotine Monster I'm trying to kill.
Doc drove to me MacDonalds at 10pm on Saturday to smash a Big Mac Meal after we drank lots of pinotage. (I cannot stop my life; I've just stopped smoking. That's all. So wine is good. Wine is good).
I went shopping with The Dove and bought some beautiful dresses and underwear.
I changed my sheets.
I washed my hands 8 000 times.
I smashed lots of cupcakes.
I gritted my teeth, took big deep breaths and sat on my hands. And just imagined killing the two shop assistants who were retarded. Not actually killing them.
I drank litres of detoxifying green tea.
I paced around my house.
Braai in Lonehill? No problem. I'll drive anywhere to avoid smoking.
I redid my entire balcony. Fake flowers, new pots, a bench with cushions, cushions fucking everywhere. House & Garden you come come round now.
I tossed and turned the whole weekend. Just like my other failed attempts to give up nicotine, I did not sleep a wink for three days. You toss and turn, throughout the night for some reason, and you just know it's because your body is like:
'Where the FUCK IS MY NICOTINE BITCH?'
May this horrible withdrawal period just calm the fuck down now. The guy at Allen Carr said life will be unbearable for a week. I can [maybe] do a week. But honestly, I can't feel like this much longer. It's too hard.
And yes yes yes, the benefits will be wonderful – already I can breathe and smell better.
I'm going to do this. Just please try not to piss me off.
OK, if you piss me off I'm going to melt your face with my red-hot irrational nicotine monster anger.
Just lie low.
Look. Think. And stay alive.