This morning started with a small gap in the routine. Mom forgot Whiskey Kitty’s medicine, and I took that as permission to stay under the covers a little longer. No alarms, no rushing, just a quiet morning stretch. Whiskey, as always, handled it better than any of us. She’s a real trooper, eating well, using her litter box, staying friendly, playful, and present like nothing in the world could shake her spirit. We gave her medicine closer to noon, and she carried on like a tiny furry professional.
I wish I could say I showed the same discipline right away.
When I woke up, I had three cigarettes. But here’s the difference, and it feels important: I didn’t go to the store for more.
That’s new territory.
With the Chantix, something strange is happening. Cigarettes don’t taste like victory anymore. They don’t even taste like relief. I light one up, take a few drags, and halfway through it feels pointless. Sometimes I can’t even finish it. The old ritual is still there, but the reward is gone, like a movie with the sound turned off.
So maybe the medicine is working.
For Whiskey.
For me.
The cessation program called today, and the conversation didn’t go smoothly. The support coach started asking detailed questions about the Chantix. How much am I taking? What color is the pill? Any side effects? Since he’s not a doctor, the questions felt intrusive, more like an interrogation than support. I got irritated and ended the call early.
Someone else is scheduled to call tomorrow.
That’s fine. Fresh voice, fresh start.
But here’s the real turning point of the day.
I decided I’m done smoking for the rest of today.
No tapering. No “just one more.” No store runs. No bargaining with myself. The cigarettes I had this morning were the last ones. Now I’m standing at the edge of the board, looking down at the water.
It’s that moment every diver knows. The climb is over. The height suddenly feels very real. The water looks far away. Your mind says, Maybe later.
And then you jump.
I’m not exactly sure what I’ll do with the extra space today. Probably art. When in doubt, I draw. I’ll work on illustrations for my current book and let the focus carry me through the hours when cravings usually show up like uninvited salesmen.
Art has always been my oxygen. Maybe today it becomes my nicotine replacement.
There’s something encouraging happening in all this. The cravings aren’t roaring anymore. They’re more like echoes. The habit is still there, but the attachment is weakening. The medicine is doing its job, and so am I.
This feels like a high dive, yes.
But it also feels like forward motion.
And once you’re in the air, there’s only one direction left.
Down into the water.
Through the shock.
Then the calm.
I got this again.
by Dan and Bonkers
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