I'll tell you about my friend. His name is Nicotine and he is a demon. Don't think he's been a good friend all these years. We met when I was fifteen. That night I spent the first night outside the house. It was a shabby apartment of one of my friend's acquaintances; I can no longer remember the metro station. A bottle of Arbat red, new friends, romance of disobedience, you know. I smoked my first cigarette, sitting on the sticky windowsill, reveling in the feeling of freedom that fell on me. It was Saint George red. Santa Gogi, as my then comrades dubbed this brand of cigarettes. I didn’t smoke, as it should be to smoke the first cigarette in my life, but the fact took place. At that time, I still did not know anything about demons, did not know their habits, pros and cons, and I did not even know about their existence. However, somehow nicotine got into my bloodstream, and the first connection was established between us.
Over the next two years, I smoked occasionally, but overall it could be said that I was not a smoker. This was until I returned at the age of seventeen from the Far East, where I worked as part of a geological exploration expedition. I made absolutely crazy money by my standards of that time, and in joy I got a pipe made of cherry wood, which I happily puffed several times a day. Yes, the pipe is not cigarettes. Much less harm, she added much more to the charm of the seventeen-year-old prankster, but, in general, worked exactly the same. That is, the demon was the same. No, he wasn't my friend then. In those years I was generally a furious materialist, was able to prove the impossibility of any kind of afterlife with impeccable, as it seemed to me, logic, and I perceived demons as an element of Christian folklore. Accordingly, as a reasonable person, I could not be friends with fictional characters. But my demon was indifferent to how I felt about him, and he was quietly going on with his work, waiting for some crisis situation in order to unfold in full force.
Such a situation was the first day of the army, in which I absolutely volunteered after reaching the age of eighteen. On that very first day, I sat on a wobbly stool in the company of two dozen like me, shaved to zero and terrified to death. We listened to the sergeant, who, without hesitation in expressions, painted us the charms and features of the life that awaited us. The vistas that opened before us made our head spin and our veins shook. When he asked if anyone had any questions, someone raised their hand and asked if anyone needed a pack of red Saint George. Like, he doesn't smoke such bullshit. Needless to say, who got it?
For the first month and a half of the army, I still smoked in a slow manner, until one of the old-timers paid attention to it, and laughingly taught me how to smoke as expected .
That's when I finally got hooked. However, it was even fun. Smoking has become a daily quest for me, a task with non-obvious ways of accomplishing. Firstly, the cigarettes had to somehowit was not always as elementary as it might seem. It was not comme il faut to smoke the charter, which was the prima, and which were given to us free of charge. In other words. And money was almost instantly expendable. Secondly, they had to be smoked so as not to get caught. We had a place specially designated for smoking in the yard, and there it was 5 minutes along all our corridors and stairs. It was still necessary to be able to get out of the company location. "To stand! Where? "," In the smoking room, comrade senior lieutenant! "," And what, there is order in the platoon !? What, everything is fine with you !? Blast-od! Become! " Well, and similar dialogues. Moreover, it was cold in the yard in winter. Therefore, we ran to smoke in the toilet, in which it was forbidden to smoke, because THIS IS THE ORDER OF THINGS! And later, when they served the first year, they also went to the washstand. Oh, this eternal Bondiada with fighters on the line, constant lightning, lights in the cam, secret stashes and hiding places, where, in addition to money, mobile phones, food, thread, fabric for hemming, paint for shoes and fresh socks, there was always a pack or two. Going out on dismissal, and feeling the freedom that suddenly collapsed, realizing that this freedom would not last long, they smoked a gulp of ten, and only after that they went about their business with dizzy heads.
There was a special punishment if you are caught smoking in the wrong place. They put the whole pack in your mouth at once, and lit a cigarette at once. If you more or less steadfastly passed this test, then they took the second pack. From such procedures, the guilty one turned inside out, and he, smearing snot on his face and wiping his continuously watery eyes, washed the place into which his dinner had erupted, and then, holding on to the walls, wandered to his bunk. The next morning, by the way, my head hurt. This is not counting the humiliation. Your humble servant has experienced all this on his own experience twice.
Nevertheless, the opportunity to sit in silence and tranquility, breathing gray smoke into the ceiling or sky, for all two years remained for me one of the main pleasures and consolations. And I left the army already a complete smoker. At different times, it took me from one to two packs a day. During the collective rituals of worshiping Bacchus - that is, the use of everything that burns, the number of cigarettes reached hundreds. Nicotine sticks of happiness, sticks of pleasure. There are countless of them for coffee, in the morning, with beer, in the afternoon, at the exit from the house, at the exit from the metro, while waiting for the bus, before going to bed, or you can have another one. And more coffee ... There was some kind of romance in it. A cigarette after great sex, or just when the world for one reason or another became beautiful. Jar with gobies on the sea. We collected them so that when we ran out of cigarettes, shake out the remains of tobacco, and make hand-rolls. All these hedgehogs from overflowing ashtrays, ashes and tobacco crumbs that you find in the most unexpected places. Smoking perfectly complemented any most wonderful or brightened up any lousy moment. It was garmonic.
Although what am I talking about. You yourself most likely know everything very well.
You also know that you have to pay for any pleasure. And I paid. I paid with almost complete absence of smell, gradual deterioration of voice, money, in the end. I paid with addiction. My demon friend helped me to concentrate, or vice versa to be distracted, gave me a sense of confidence. In return, he demanded nothing but loyalty.
And I was loyal. Cough, difficulty waking up in the morning, lousy taste in the mouth - I did not pay attention. Nothing, I thought. By the way, it was around this time that I began to perceive him as a demon - a living intelligent entity that has some power over me. After the army, I began to think a lot about various things, to be interested in esotericism. This allowed me to see my friend in all his glory. I also discovered in myself alcoholic, caffeine and other demons. This was a very curious discovery. Among other things, I realized that these guys have been friends with each other much longer than I have been friends with them. Yes, and if I invite a demon of alcohol or a demon of caffeine to visit, they will definitely throw the nicotine demon on the pipe to their bro. And he was right there.
How can I call these not the most pleasant comrades in the world friends? Understand, I am aware of all their shortcomings, but I had fun with them. They entertained me, they greatly diversified my life, and thanks to them I took part in many adventures that would have been impossible without them. And the most important thing is, of course, the atmosphere. But, nevertheless, yes, what am I telling you? You yourself know everything.
Yes, these guys loved to come to me together. And the easiest way to get rid of them is all together. They have too many ties with each other. These are phrases from the series: “How is coffee without cigarettes? Coffee without cigarettes makes no sense! " And it's true. Even a movie like this is Jim Jarmusch's Coffee and Cigarettes. Or the image of a man drinking whiskey. He always smokes. In all these American films, all these brutal men always smoke at the bar! In general, this is what I thought when I first decided to quit with nicotine. The reason was a night attack of suffocation. I thought it was too much. Friendship is friendship, but you need to know when to stop. And that same night he exhaled the demons of alcohol and nicotine. Well, so I imagined it to myself, that they leave my body with a deep exhalation.
And they left. For five whole days. Long, endless, dull five days. I walked lost, I didn't know what to do with myself. I quarreled with my wife (and by that time I was already married), got irritated and offended at her for nothing. I felt very uncomfortable. On the sixth day, my wife and I went to the Zakhar May concert, where I spat on everything, drank whiskey and smoked two packs of Marlboro. My friends are back. God, how happy I was!
After that there were several more attempts. Sometimes it was possible to quit for a week or a week and a half, sometimes not. There were times when I quit smoking every morning, but my demon returned me to his arms no later than lunchtime, andmore often by the time I got to work. He did it with the hands of my colleagues, who, along with a greeting, routinely handed me an open pack, knowing that I didn’t have mine, because I was leaving.
My demon tried his best, he hooked me with advertisements, smoking people on the street, the environment in which I used to smoke; he rummaged in my head, making me constantly think about cigarettes. But my intention gradually increased, and sometimes I started to win some not very big battles.
The first more or less serious success I achieved after reading the book by Ekhatr Tolle. The book was called "New Earth". I became more and more interested in esotericism, and this book allowed me to look at smoking as a habit of my ego. And since the book just taught me to stop associating myself with my ego, to separate myself from it, I managed to temporarily separate my beloved demon from what I called myself. In general, it doesn't matter! I haven't smoked for a month and a half. I, of course, already slowly began to think that this is forever. And even slowly he began to feel sad. But no, the sudden "but who cares ?!" - and I am again with a cigarette.
When I quit smoking, I always started later with something more pleasant and tasty. From hand-rolled cigarettes, fragrant pipes, or simply from good quality cigarettes from those that are more expensive. And only later, when you get tired of fooling around, or the toad starts to choke, you switch to the same Java or Winston.
Alain Kar - a generally recognized guide to quitting bad habits, the author of several practical books on this difficult matter - did not help ... He somehow did not seem convincing to me. In that book of his. Which fell into my hands, somewhere in the middle, there is a phrase that if you still have not fully realized the meaninglessness and unnecessary use of smoking, then close the book and start reading from the beginning. I closed it, but in spite of the fact that in general he presented very sensible ideas, he did not open it any more.
Meanwhile, the need to break off the relationship with smoking was more and more evident. The pleasure really diminished somehow, and the state of health somehow worsened. Gradually, little by little, but ... Besides, a little less than all at least some serious practitioners categorically exclude smoking.
My next breakthrough came thanks to Vadim Zeland with his pendulums. Those who have read are aware of them, and those who have not read them do not mind. I gave it up for another two months. However, I then gave up everything: drinking, smoking, tea, coffee, cooked food (switched to a raw food diet). I woke up in the morning, did exercises, took a contrast shower, had time to redo a lot of things before lunch. But he only lasted until the fall. At the end of August, I hitchhiked to Solovki, and the route without cigarettes turned out to be an insurmountable test for me. I didn't overcome anything. Why bother like that, I thought? I'd rather have fun. And the nicotine demon is back. And then I called all the other friends, and I had quite rowdy autumn and winter. In the springmy wife (already a different one) and her two friends decided to cleanse their bodies in order to start the practices of getting out of the body, lucid dreaming, traveling between worlds, etc. They promised each other for seven months not to use any drugs, incl. alcohol, nicotine, caffeine, taurine (the one in tea). Since this was nothing new to me, I decided to join them, and at the same time support my woman. Seven months is, of course, a utopia, but I reached a three-month record. Then my wife told me that we were going to have a baby, and then a close friend died. Of course, my demons were always ready to come to my rescue, or to rejoice with me. And this time they were close.
I was on the train Rostov-on-Don - Moscow. In my hands was the book "Foundations of Buddhism" by Kalu Rinpoche. I bummed a cigarette, went out to smoke in the vestibule, returned, looked at the book thoughtfully for a while, and ... made a vow to Kalu Rinpoche that I would not smoke until all living beings in the universe attain enlightenment. I was even a little shaken by what a powerful oath I had made. And you know, it worked. It is useless to promise yourself - you can always agree with yourself; to their friends and women - after all, they are ordinary people, and ordinary people are capable of breaking their promises. And what is the value of a vow given to a person who does not keep the vows? But after promising such a sickly man like Rinpoche, I realized that now everything was over, and my former friend became a stranger to me. I can still feel him walking around me, trying to find his way back, and he can't. All doors are closed and sealed by the will of the one who is much stronger than me. For some reason, the alcohol demon also stopped visiting. Perhaps he was offended for an old friend. Who knows? It hasn't been that long, and I'm still a little uncomfortable with the realization that this is already forever. The word "forever" is actually quite a scary thing. It's good that there are still friends who are helping me get through this separation.
Both of my parents smoke, and they have been smoking for a very long time, since their youth, they never tried to quit, they did not even talk about it, so, as they say, I had no chance. Interest in this appeared early, at the age of 8, I wanted to know what it is, how it is. But it was scary to steal a cigarette from my father from the pack, for fear that he would notice, and also, as I thought, that I would get addicted from the very first time, that cigarettes are something like heroin. And I decided that it would be better for me to make a “childish” version of cigarettes: I met in books about the war how characters smoke hand-rolled cigarettes, and I thought that tobacco is grass, and tea is also grass. Why not have some tea? And I'll try, and it's safe. I made, in short, a roll-up of a sheet of white thick paper (in vain, in vain, in vain) and tea. Well, I tried to smoke. My mouth was bitter, the feeling that I ate burnt paper (and it was so), but still bursting with pride in my resourcefulness and courage, although I did not try to smoke tea anymore.
The next attempt was when I was 11 years old, not of my own free will, but so that "no worse than others", although in fact for me it was no longer of any interest, I did not think that from this who something will become "cool" and so on. The school year began, after the summer holidays, all types "matured": many girls began to paint, almost all in parallel began to smoke. And here we stand in a company, eight people, someone smokes their own, the rest one cigarette for three or four. It was my turn, I dragged on and my throat burned, I coughed, already tears came from my eyes. Someone seemed to cough too, almost no one there still knew how to smoke, they only pretended to. Then I found myself in this company a couple of times, and after I started avoiding them, and they also did not particularly seek to invite me to their place, because I never bought cigarettes. They gave me practically no pocket money, and I also lived in the same room with the ubiquitous sister who rummaged through my things. And I thought, the money that I can buy myself a comic strip or a chocolate bar, I have to spend on cigarettes (and I don't even like their taste). This money will have to be taken somewhere when my pack is over; I cannot stretch it for a month or more. In addition, you need to hide it somewhere, worry if they will find it, make efforts so that I do not smell of tobacco. Why do I need these gestures? I did not try to start smoking anymore, and later, having matured, I was also terribly proud of myself, especially when I heard that someone was trying to quit and could not.
Then - at that time I already felt so good in my 20s, so I don't understand, what the hell? - I liked one guy, he was cute, funny, he paid absolutely no attention to me, and he also smoked. And he smoked so "beautifully": his face was so thoughtful at the same time, he inhaled, and the smoke blew out of his nose. That I really wanted to smoke too. And I bought myself thin "female" cigarettes, like with a flavoring agent, I don't remember which tasted better. Like to learn first. Learn in general and learn to be beautiful, and whatb later it would be possible to do it in public, without hitting the face in the dirt. But I still didn't know which side to approach them and where to smoke? At home it is stupid, on the street it is somehow indecent. In general, I thought about it, I thought, but I never came up with anything. And by that time my hobby for that guy had passed and it seemed like there was no need to start smoking. And I left this pack at the bus stop to be found by someone who would need it more than me.
I started at 16, the company was smoking (many guys from the former high school), I held on for a long time. Just somehow stayed with my friends for the night and decided to smoke. And somehow I liked it.
Parents certainly did not approve when the father saw the pack, said that her friend had forgotten. He started to say something, but since he himself is a smoker and also a heavy drinker and was never interested in my life and upbringing, I told him all these arguments, conveyed to him the idea that his opinion did not interest me and that was it.
This information was also leaked to my mother. But my mother raised me to be an adult, so she never did empty moralizing. She then simply said "I would not want you to smoke, of course. And we always talked about this habit with you as something bad. But I smoke myself. And I smoked at your age, so I have no right to ask you about what she is not capable of herself. It's just that now you know my opinion "
For her and me, smoking has never been something about which we should quarrel and prove something to someone. Since that conversation, I did not come across her with cigarettes until I was 22, I just didn’t want to embarrass her in the eyes of neighbors and her friends. And I never smoked like a locomotive. I do not smoke at work, I am a personal assistant, and I consider it indecent when the assistants smoke ...
I remember it was New Year's Eve. My father died in October of that year and we celebrated at home. It was only my mother, me and my best friend came. We already worked hard then and did not depend on our parents. And he and I in their families were already considered adults with their own brains and bumps)) I remember my mother got up then, went into the corridor and turned and told us "you can smoke in the kitchen, just open the window wide."
Now I'm 27 and my mom and I have been going out for a smoke together for a long time.
Now I am expecting a child, so I have not smoked for a long time. Then I'll feed him.
And then I'll start smoking again. Because I love it.
Tell me an interesting case. Once we were standing in the school toilet, smoking. The teachers naturally forbade us to do this. And then a new mathematician came to school, as it turned out he was a smoker, he came to our toilet, we smoke there, well, he asks "Why is it possible to smoke in the toilets", well, we told him "of course, we are allowed all this," well, he stands with us, smokes, and then the head teacher comes in, there was a lot of noise.
Instead of a preface:
I agree with the Ministry of Health warn: smoking is harmful to your health .
My acquaintance with smoking began, it seems, at the age of 6. On that summer day, my best friend and I got the idea that we are not cool enough for 6 years, and therefore need to smoke. Of course, we couldn't get cigarettes anywhere, but we remembered that there were a lot of ashtrays in our entrances. Having found more or less bearable bulls in these very driveway ashtrays, we ran around the corner of our house in order to quickly become cool, read: smoke them. But there we were in for a surprise in the form of my best friend's father, who was sticking out of the window and, no matter how comical it may sound, was smoking. I remembered his only phrase at that time for the rest of my life: "Well, I'll smoke you, little ones!" Then, naturally, my friend and I were driven home for explanatory conversations. They just talked to him, but I became a participant in a clichéd scene: father is in an armchair, mother is next to him, a pack of cigarettes is on the table, and the silence is interrupted by the phrase: “Here's a pack of cigarettes, smoke.”
Then, up to 9 years old, I did not try to somehow come into contact with tobacco, but after moving from elementary school to middle school, I again encountered it, only there were already full-fledged cigarettes that we smoked, stuffing between two sticks (well, so as not smelled). Then there were no particularly comical situations, although I remember how my young body was "removed" from the black Peter's cigarette, and I could hardly restrain myself during the entire Russian lesson so that I would not vomit. In class I was far from the only one who dabbled in tobacco, and therefore smoked straight with the whole pack, smoking on each other. And, so, at the next class meeting, the class teacher, she is my mother, smelling this light tobacco aroma in the classroom, began to find out who exactly tar. Having learned all the names of class 5 "A" smokers, read: knocking out the data from the most cowardly smoker with the phrase: "I will tell your mother that you smoke, and if you tell me the names, I will not tell you" , among which I was there too, my mother, she is also the class teacher, held an explanatory conversation and let everyone go, and asked me to wait for her to go home together. Walking home, she said nothing. She just walked in silence and cried softly. The still warm September sun warmed my head, inside of which there was great shame for having upset my mother so much.
Time passed, I especially did not smoke since then (well, yes, I dabbled in the company a couple of times, but not more). In grades 7-8, alcohol was already more bribed, and the thirst to try all its varieties, although we limited ourselves only to beer and all sorts of cocktails, a la: jaguar, strike and other nasty things. This was the situation with tobacco until the spring of 2010, when I was finishing 9th grade (high school). Somehow I was growing up there, I was allowed to travel to St. Petersburg on my own (I come from a small town in the Leningrad region), go out late, etc., which, in fact, brought cigarettes back into my life. The bad young head thought: “Everyone smokes, well,and what am I ?! ”, and so I lit a cigarette. Then I started smoking all the time, buying my own cigarettes with the pocket money my parents gave me. By the way, I remember that they once gave me a little more, and I went and bought myself Parliament, and they were already the most expensive, as much as 55 rubles (it's just ridiculous in 2017 from such a price for a pack of parliament). Mom periodically noticed this. Conducted conversations, swore, tried to manipulate, but everything was useless, and therefore by my graduation from school, she simply turned a blind eye to this habit. The only thing, at school, I tried especially not to glow with smoking in front of the teachers, because after all they were colleagues, and I did not want them to think that, they say, my mother somehow raised me badly. It was not her fault that I was a bit of a fool.
I smoked until April 2017 (well, once I quit for a couple of months in 2015, but that doesn't count). All the students, I never parted with a cigarette. A couple of times he even treated the teachers to a cigarette or a flame. Sometimes I smoked so much that the only time I didn't smoke was when I was asleep. And now, not so long ago, in April of this year, I gave up this bad habit. Unexpectedly for myself, for I have always said that I will smoke even on my deathbed. One day I just stopped wanting to smoke, I wanted to breathe fresh air and feel it, etc. I don’t know if I parted with this habit forever, or if it will come back to me, who knows ... But for now for a moment of my life I can manage without a cigarette in my mouth.
If you've read this far, thank you for your attention. And I say it again: smoking is harmful to your health.
UPD: Since the question has hit the top. October 2017. I smoke again, but you don't smoke :)
Perhaps my story will not be interesting, but since there is a question, I am writing. I started relatively early, at the age of 13, I tried it - and away we go. My father smokes, while doing it with such pleasure and love that it could not but arouse my interest. In childhood, by the way, they were very scared of smoking - they say, it's bad, harmful, and in general if you light a cigarette, we'll kick you out of the house. But for some reason it didn’t stop me at thirteen years old, haha. I started with a thin Neksta (that is still disgusting), now I smoke Camel. At first I hid it at school, I had a class of healthy people twice as many as me), and girls who frowned at one type of cigarette, and so pretensely that in my head questions arose whether this was a cover. Then, to the ninth grade, I stopped hiding, the attitude of more than half of the class towards me worsened, but I did not care. Teachers and school administration treated smoking more or less normally, if it was about senior grades, they could freely go out during recess ( before we had turnstiles installed) and poison our body, but small 5-7 graders were caught and mercilessly sandwiched. I still remember how one sixth grader, seeing the headmistress from the school smoking room, climbed over a three-meter fence, climbed over it, ran away and no one else saw him at school. I wonder where he is ... I haven’t been to the university yet, but I managed to study at the secondary vocational education department at the university, everything is super light here, you can even leave a couple, smoke and return. We even have a smoking room, there are especially cheeky guys burning trash cans. And parents are more and more fun - once, while checking my bag (why?), my mother found cigarettes and a lighter. But she didn't show it - it was on New Year's Eve. Well, now, a family dinner, a blue light, Olivier on the table and my mother's eyes are staring at me. Even then I understood what was the matter (I have no idea how), and tried to talk about something detached. After some time, mom raises a glass and says a toast: "This year we all tried something new. Yes, Varya? Have you tried something new? But new does not always mean right. I suggest you drink something new. so that we all learn to divide our new habits into good and bad. And get rid of bad ones. " I would not understand what she was just a complete idiot. In general, after the chimes struck twelve, I went to my room and carefully hid the cigarettes, haha. Mother's speech did not reach me - but in vain, it would be healthier. Now they sometimes ask if I smoke, but I always go to rejection - then somehow I'll tell them, I don't think this is the right time. To summarize, I will say - smoking is bad, do not start, but I really love smoking, and I doubt that I will quit in the next 10 years.