One month deep.

Every cigarette is my last cigarette.

I've been whispering this to myself since the first time I lit up.

I have been a smoker for ten years. I love cigarettes. The cheap thrill of unwrapping a fresh pack, lighting up a smoke at the end of a long day and just relishing the current moment of my single obligation, which is to sit back and inhale.  I love the feeling of the smoke swirling in my lungs, and exhaling slowly, crafting white lines in the air.  The mild crackle of the amber cherry as it glows with every lick.  Within a lit cigarette lies an absolute - the next 6 minutes are completely spoken for.

Quitting smoking has been one of the most challenging obstacles I've had to overcome alone; selfishly. Yet this is a hurdle that I can only address on my own, by myself, and nobody can do it for me.

I've tried quitting before, and I've been very nearly successful.  But somehow, the road of good intent never quite allows me to clear the woods unmarked, and before I know it - I am holding a white filter between my lips, right back where I started.  

What I did not expect to stumble upon in my journey to end my codependency with my old flame nicotine, is a large portion of my high-strung personality.

Cigarettes are the sprinkles on my cupcake.  The third encore at a Bon Jovi concert. A rye and coke after last call. They are so unnecessary. But they fill empty space, and they create diversion.  The proverbial white noise of my life. Cigarettes are a crutch. I can avoid tasks, certain conversations, and lean on excuses as I flick my lighter - cue flame! and inhale my poison.

My restlessness is rooted in this dirty habit.  Smoking is a distraction. It's like this: I'm never able to fully enjoy being in the moment, because I'm always looking forward to the next best thing...the next adventure.  I would be chain-smoking around a bonfire, tossing the smoke prematurely, only to light up minutes later. My affection for wanderlust absolutely has no rationale. I only know that smoking isn't helping me focus.

My motivation to quit smoking isn't because cigarettes are gross, or because they are not accepted by society, or because at nearly $20 a pack, I'm spending my savings on a broken habit.  I want to quit because if I don't now, I probably never will.  Because I am stubborn in every area of my life, except this area. Until now. My mom calls it growing up, but it feels more like a time-out for bad behaviour.  

For now.