At approximately 10 a.m., Whiskey Kitty declared war on my wrists.
Sharp tiny teeth. Pounce mode fully activated. Wrists shredded like deli meat. The lesson was immediate and painful: forget to feed the cat and she transforms from angelic furball into a feral biting monster with a personal vendetta.
So I did my duty. Bowls filled. Peace restored.
Then I did the other thing.
I went straight for the cigars and tea at 7-Eleven.
Yesterday I had already blogged and texted about my relapse, feeling like I’d let everyone down. The responses were kind, supportive, forgiving. And yet, there I was again, doing the exact thing I said I didn’t want to do. Addiction has a special talent for making encouragement feel abstract while cravings feel urgent and physical.
Mom surprised me with grace. She said she couldn’t judge me because she understands addiction firsthand. Hers is chocolate.
She’ll tell herself she’s having one scoop of ice cream. Then the freezer looks empty and somehow the spoon has vanished under suspicious circumstances. I appreciate the honesty. Addiction doesn’t care if it’s wrapped in cellophane or ice cream cartons.
That led us into theory territory. In my experience, there are two dominant schools of thought when it comes to addiction.
First is the potato chip theory. You have one, which means you have ten, which means you’re eating the bag while standing over the sink pretending it doesn’t count. This is classic all-or-nothing thinking. A logical fallacy. A cognitive distortion. Once you slip, you might as well fall face-first and stay there.
I told my mother, yes, you actually can have one scoop of ice cream.
Then there’s the taper-down approach. You space it out. You reduce the amount. You don’t punish yourself for slipping. You don’t turn one mistake into a moral failure. You get back on the horse instead of burning the barn down.
The potato chip theory is useful if you’re fully committed to complete abstinence. Otherwise, it can be brutal and counterproductive. The taper-down model is gentler, more forgiving, and doesn’t demand perfection to function.
Right now, annoyingly, both theories apply to me.
I genuinely believe tapering down or leaving it at one or two can work. I’ve seen it work. I just have a harder time applying that logic to cigarettes. They don’t behave like ice cream. They negotiate. They argue. They pretend to be friends.
I went to the clinic and asked the doctor about restarting Chantix. No luck. Prescription maxed out. He also didn’t think stopping Chantix caused the relapse anyway. It’s been nearly four months, plenty of time to detox. Fair point.
Mom has another theory: caffeine.
I drink heroic amounts of it. Industrial quantities. Enough to wake the dead and irritate the living. Both the doctor and the caseworker agreed with her. Caffeine can absolutely trigger cravings. The body gets amped up and starts looking for its old partners in crime.
So now the real battle line is clear. It isn’t just cigarettes. It’s mindset. Potato chip thinking. Dose reduction. Decaf.
I’m trying not to beat myself up. Shame has never cured anything. I remind myself that relapse isn’t a verdict, it’s information. There will be better days. There always are.
And I will be a nonsmoker again.
For now, I feed the cat on time, watch the caffeine, question the potato chips, and keep getting back on the horse. Even if the horse bites back a little.
I’ve still got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
SUPPORT MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS TODAY!!!
