My Dirty Little Secret

Well, it’s not a secret, really. It is just something I don’t talk about here. Or anywhere, really. But it is dirty. It is actually quite disgusting.

I’m a smoker. Well, I WAS. I think. Maybe.

I started smoking when I was 19 and in college. I grew up with a chain smoker who smoked in our house and in the car, and I always complained about how sick it made me, but there I was, years later, smoking with my friends. At first I only did it socially, but then it became a pack-a-day habit. When I met Brian I said I would try to quit one day. And I did try. Several times. I never did follow through.

It took getting pregnant to make me stop. From the second I found out that I was pregnant with Rylie, I didn’t touch a cigarette again my whole pregnancy. That was easy. I really have no problem polluting my own body with that garbage, but there is no way in hell I would pollute my child’s body with it.

Then I came home from the hospital. My parents were staying with us and my dad was smoking. I think it took only about a day before I was out on the back porch with him. He became my crutch, along with my friends who smoked. I wasn’t smoking regularly again, but I always looked forward to the next time I would be around a smoker so I could have a few.

I got pregnant with Bryce, and the same thing happened. I quit as soon as I thought it was even a possibility, didn’t get near a cigarette throughout my entire pregnancy, and then was out on my back porch with my dad the first day we were back home from the hospital.

Now, I NEVER smoke around my kids. In fact, they have no idea that I smoke. When I do smoke, I change into my “smoking shirt” and go out on my back porch. When I am done, I come back in the house, change my shirt, wash my hands, and either brush my teeth, rinse with Listerine, eat a mint, or whatever it takes to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. I do not ever smell like cigarette smoke, nor does my car or house. I don’t smoke in public either. Only on my back porch.

My dad quit smoking earlier last year, and I did not have my “supplier” any longer. I thought that would be the end of my smoking days. Nope. When my dad passed away, I actually used cigarettes to help get me through that. Yep. I was turning to the very thing that killed my father to help me cope with his death. I’m a genius, I know.

Since then, I have been smoking on and off, although more on than off. I kept saying I would quit (again), “as soon as I got through {insert crisis here}”. You all know that I had a rough year, and I used that as an excuse to keep smoking.

I posted in my New Year’s Resolution post that I resolved to live a healthier lifestyle because I don’t want to do to my kids what my dad did to me. I didn’t post about my resolve to quit smoking, because at the time, I didn’t want my dirty little secret to be a part of this blog. That is part of my resolution, though, and something I need to do. I don’t want to die early on in life because of a nasty, disgusting habit that I chose to continue.

My smoking, however, goes beyond just the addiction. I have some issues with my nervous system. My blood pressure is usually 90-100/50-60 and my resting heart rate is barely 50. I used to be on the opposite end of the spectrum with my heart rate, but one day it just slowed way down. I won’t go on and on about my medical issues right now, since that isn’t the point of this post, but these issues cause me to feel like the walking dead. All the time. I get dizzy spells, and feel like I am living in a fog. The doctors can’t find anything “wrong” with me, and instead say that I have the heart of an athlete. Only I’m not an althete. I'm a couch potato. Cigarettes are stimulants, so as you can imagine, they speed me up and make me feel better overall. I would honestly rather die of lung cancer than spend the rest of my life feeling dizzy and foggy. Because THAT, my friends, is no way to live life. I will find a better way to feel better, though, or I will at least try.

I finished up my last pack of cigarettes Wednesday night, and I am trying to quit smoking, for good this time. The first few days are absolutely HORRIBLE because of the nicotine withdrawals, so I am doing my best to get through them. I am dizzy and constantly feel like I am going to throw up. I can’t concentrate on anything. I’m angry, short tempered, and I am yelling a lot. One minute I have chills, and the next minute I am sweating. I’m not sleeping either. This will all pass, though, and I know it will. Hopefully once this passes and the physical withdrawal symptoms go away I will start feeling better again.

I have to quit. I can say that because I’m a “closet smoker” and only smoke by myself, that my dirty little secret doesn’t affect anyone else. But it does. I know what it feels like to lose a parent too early, due to a smoking-related illness, and I don’t want to do that to my children. So even though I really don’t WANT to quit smoking, I HAVE to. I have to do it for those two little babies that I love more than anything in this world, so I can see them grow up and so I can live to know my grandchildren, which is something my dad will never get to do.