This year I’ll mark my 20th anniversary. I haven’t forgotten what it was like.
The first three days are the worst. I quit after 22 years at the >2-pack level. I used self-talk, munchies, and a journal to help me through. I didn’t have any outside coaching or support.
I kept up a running patter in my head (“You can do it, you can do it, hang on”) and tried to stay very busy through white-knuckle time. I tried to have as many non-smoking thoughts as possible to crowd out the obsessive cravings.
I munched on pretzels (stick variety, of course) and chewed gum and bit my pencils. (I was doing a manual edit of a book manuscript at the time.) There’s no telling how many boxes of pretzels I went through. As my friend said, “It’s easier to lose weight than cancer.”
The best aid might have been the journal I kept. I journaled minute by minute through the final countdown in my last pack and as I took my last drags. I journaled the ultimate decision and the wretched days that followed. I knew all I’d ever have to do was reread it and I’d remember that I never wanted to go through that again. I still have it. Very effective deterrent.
Still, I kept an ash tray on my desk for months afterward and didn’t throw away my cigarette case for about two years because after so many years of smoking fairly heavily, the “never” part was too scary. Even after nearly 20 years I still wish I could just have a smoke, no strings.
Tell your friend to hang in there. There is never an optimal time. There is always stress. Hang in there. I sure felt good the day I passed the 17-year mark, at which time according to statistics my lungs were as good as those of someone who had never smoked at all.
The first three days are the worst, yes, and the mad craving passes, but it seems to be true that the desire never really goes away.