Philip Morris Inc
I had a friend who believed that Philip Morris owns a series of space stations orbiting the Earth that spots when someone is trying to give up smoking and quickly beams thoughts directly into their brains with some kind of ray beam:
"You can give up tomorrow. It will be a lot easier tomorrow."
"Cigarettes are your only friends. How can you treat them like this after all you have been though?"
"Go on just one – that is not really smoking."
"What the point of living exactly, if you don’t smoke."
… and so on.
How I scoffed!! "Puff.. satellites!" I mocked "In the sky! Ha - I don’t think so! Everyone knows Philip Morris employs an army of small invisible globins who sit on everyone's shoulder to tell us those things"
It turns out we were both wrong.
Through Pavlovian rewards and punishments smokers have conditioned themselves to smoke. The desires of a seasoned addict come from deep down, lurking in the murky misty depths of the mind just before the charred sign that says "Beware! Here be dragons!"
Telling smokers to give up because it makes them smell or poor or sick or ugly isn't going to work. They already know all this. They live with cigarettes. They know them intimately and the bruises they inflict - feebly making excuse for them "Oh it is nothing - I just walked in to a cold." or "I bought these in duty free - so I am actually saving money by smoking them."
Persistent smokers are in an abusive relationship with cigarettes. It is co-dependent and it one sided but is a relationship none the less.
To leave, like leaving any bad relationship, takes courage. A courage I have never really had. Until last night when my celebrity columnist who luckily doubles up as my hypnotherapist* came around and hypnotised enough courage into me to face down the fucker. A psychological equivalent of a refuge for battered smokers.
It is early days yet and my body is still oozing out the poisons. My head is swimming with liberty and all this extra oxygen.
But sooner or later smoking will find me, start trying to kick down the front door of the shelter - shouting up at the window its gruff voice:
"Open the door... I just want to talk..... Come on baby - I want you back!! I promise it will be different this time!"
I hope I can cope.
* and very good at it she is too.
"You can give up tomorrow. It will be a lot easier tomorrow."
"Cigarettes are your only friends. How can you treat them like this after all you have been though?"
"Go on just one – that is not really smoking."
"What the point of living exactly, if you don’t smoke."
… and so on.
How I scoffed!! "Puff.. satellites!" I mocked "In the sky! Ha - I don’t think so! Everyone knows Philip Morris employs an army of small invisible globins who sit on everyone's shoulder to tell us those things"
It turns out we were both wrong.
Through Pavlovian rewards and punishments smokers have conditioned themselves to smoke. The desires of a seasoned addict come from deep down, lurking in the murky misty depths of the mind just before the charred sign that says "Beware! Here be dragons!"
Telling smokers to give up because it makes them smell or poor or sick or ugly isn't going to work. They already know all this. They live with cigarettes. They know them intimately and the bruises they inflict - feebly making excuse for them "Oh it is nothing - I just walked in to a cold." or "I bought these in duty free - so I am actually saving money by smoking them."
Persistent smokers are in an abusive relationship with cigarettes. It is co-dependent and it one sided but is a relationship none the less.
To leave, like leaving any bad relationship, takes courage. A courage I have never really had. Until last night when my celebrity columnist who luckily doubles up as my hypnotherapist* came around and hypnotised enough courage into me to face down the fucker. A psychological equivalent of a refuge for battered smokers.
It is early days yet and my body is still oozing out the poisons. My head is swimming with liberty and all this extra oxygen.
But sooner or later smoking will find me, start trying to kick down the front door of the shelter - shouting up at the window its gruff voice:
"Open the door... I just want to talk..... Come on baby - I want you back!! I promise it will be different this time!"
I hope I can cope.
* and very good at it she is too.
posted by h at
3:36 pm
7 Comments:
AAARRRRRRG
By
h, at 9:20 pm
See if she will make you a tape of the therapy session so you can self-hypnotize in the future.
By
Zen Wizard, at 3:51 am
Good luck, soldier.
By
Léonie, at 2:09 pm
Soldier!! Hehe - I haven't been called that since I was err.. well.. a little soldier.
Thanks for the encouragement chaps and chapette - I now have no finger nails but I don't think too many people hate me after snapping at them.
I think I am over the worst of the cold turkey - I see a light at the end of the tunnel.
By
h, at 5:05 pm
Pah, wheeze, you can't resist my charms, I see in my all scrying ball that you hvae already smoked two packets of the old lover
By
bloggin the Question, at 12:11 am
shh
By
h, at 12:44 am
Stella's tally
Years since I took my first puff: 5
Number of times I have quit for 1 month or more: 8-10
Number of days it takes for stoned-withdrawal feeling to wear off and feeling-good to commence: 3
Number of days it takes til I forget how gross it was and start craving the sweet, sweet release: 7
Most successful stretch of nonsmoking: 1.75 years
Length of most recent relapse: 2.5 weeks
Days since most recent quit: 10
No gnomes or satillites needed here, just the curse of chemistry and genetics. I'd get addicted to paper cuts if I sustained them over a long enough time.
Plus the added excuse that PM's mother company is responsible for the majority of arts funding in the US (as, naturally, there's no government funding for it). So technically you can say that by smoking you are supporting the betterment of culture.
By
Hope E. Ewing, at 7:04 pm
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