Bad Habit

Wanna know what I spend $8000 a year on?



That's right. A dirty, dirty habit that I am finally about to break.
For good this time.


I can still vividly recall the first time I ever smoked. I was 12 years old, in the first few months of high school. Standing near the wash-basins in the O Block toilets (yeah, really smart in hindsight when the Special Ed teachers' staffroom was within sniffing distance) with about eight other girls. Passing around a limp Winfield Red, taking turns at bum-puffing and sneering at any who dared cough or splutter.

I was hooked right from that first moment. Neither of my parents smoke, and my grumbly old chain-smoking gran had passed away the previous year. So I enlisted friends with nicotine-addicted parents to smuggle away the odd cigarette here and there in exchange for shrapnel, a lip gloss they'd coveted, a lend of my favourite Spice Girls CD.
We'd sneak off to the toilets, hide in a cubicle and exchange goods. The precious cigarette or two would be zipped into the hood pocket of my navy-and-white school-issue spray jacket, where I knew my mother would never dream of looking. I'd treat my synthetic jacket like it was made of mink until I could get home and transfer the illicit ciggies to my favourite hiding-place - a drawer in my wardrobe where my underwear was housed.
I was always a pretty responsible kid. My mum had no problems leaving me at home alone for a couple of hours at a time so she could do the grocery shopping or run some other errand after she finished work.

And as soon as she pulled out of the drive-way, I'd get out that cigarette and a box of matches, climb a tree in the yard so the stench wouldn't invade the house (and no nosy neighbours could bust me among the foliage), and savour every last bum-puff, right down to the filter.
Then I'd dispose of the evidence, run upstairs and shower, shampoo my hair and scrub my teeth to remove any and all traces before my parents came home.


It wasn't long before I worked out that I could scrape up enough spare change to buy a pack of Longbeach Mild (now known as 'Original') 20's, and if I sat outside the corner store long enough, eventually I'd come across someone who was willing to walk inside and add those cigarettes to their milk, newspaper and chocolate bar.

And so it went. I was 15 and a complete slave to Big Tobacco.
Of course I thought I was cool. The taste was disgusting, the smell absolutely vile, but I just. didn't. want. to. stop.

My Dad found out when I was 16. He was dropping me at a friend's house for a party, and seeing as I was dolled up in all my finery, I figured I could get away with buying my own cigarettes for a change. I went into the store, got my darbs, and tried to hide the small pack against the back of my thigh as I got back into the car. Dad gave me a lecture, I told him they were for my friend and she'd asked me to pick some up on my way over, he rolled his eyes and let it go - by then, I was already half-way off the rails and smoking was one more battle my parents couldn't be arsed dealing with when they had so many other things to worry about in their own lives.
They were right in a way, though - they could lecture, punish and carry on all they wanted, I was going to smoke. So they started buying me packs of cigarettes themselves and figured it saved them the headache of arguing with me.

I got suspended from school at least three times for smoking - once I did it right in front of a teacher. I was beyond caring. You all know we're sitting down here smoking, why bother hiding it? Suspensions got me three days to sit at home in my pyjamas and smoke as much as I fucking wanted. As a rebellious 17-year-old, that was a good thing.


Now I'm 24 years old and have been a pack-a-day smoker for about 6 years. Tailors started costing me too much when I was 20, so I started smoking rollies. Even with the cheaper option, I'm spending $150 a WEEK on the filthy things.


'You could be buying me a shitload of gourmet cat food with that money.'

I've tried to quit. Numerous times. Probably eight or nine by now? And I've never managed to go a full 24 hours without a cigarette. Even when I was pregnant. Even when I was going into surgery under general anaesthetic and told smoking before the op could mean I don't wake up. About an hour after the birth of my second child, I was out in the carpark holding my stomach and chaffing away as though my life depended on it - and I'd been whingeing at the nurses to let me to out for a cigarette since the cord was cut.
I just can't kick the habit, and it makes no sense to me. I smoked pot for 4 years and then just quit one day. No turning back. Okay, except for that one weekend on the Gold Coast with old friends when the Boss and I got blind rotten drunk and easily influenced - but that was one cone in 3 years of being clean and while it felt great at the time, I don't miss it and I don't even think about it.

I've tried patches. I've tried lozenges and gum. I've tried distraction. I've tried reading the books, joining the websites and calling the Quitline. Tried cold turkey, cutting down, even went on Champix and it was no bloody wonder I just kept smoking, what with feeling sick as a dog and having horrific nightmares all the time.
And I still have that big old biscuit tin full of empty tobacco pouches and papers sitting right outside my front door.
I'm writing this with a cigarette between my fingers right now.


But enough is enough.
It's time to kick the habit. This dirty, filthy habit that has endangered the life of my children and put my own health and safety on the line. This grotty, stinking habit that literally burns any spare cash I have and denies me small pleasure in life like new handbags, good skin and tickets to Paramore concerts.

The Boss and I are in agreement. Today, I am going to Chemist Warehouse to stock up on Nicabate lozenges (and hair dye), charging up my Kindle so I can purchase this Alan Carr book everyone's recommended, buying a pack of tailor-mades to wean myself off properly, and when those 30 Longbeach Originals are gone... so is my dirty habit.
My addiction, on the other hand... will be worked on.

Wish me luck. This is going to be a tough one. I'm a creature of habit, and this particular one has been my favourite for far too long.