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Today was one of those days when the cravings hit like a storm. Out of nowhere, I found myself imagining the feel of a cigarette between my fingers, that old comfort trying to creep back in. But I didn’t give in. I wanted to—but I didn’t. I owe that to the support I’ve been getting from everyone who’s followed my journey. Your encouragement helps me make the right choice when the wrong one seems so easy. Thank God for the internet in times like this—it gives me a place to reach out instead of relapse. That connection means more than...

Today’s therapy session peeled back some layers. Not the glamorous kind — more like the uncomfortable, emotional-bubble-wrap kind. We talked about the breathing issues, the panic waves that hit like a surprise gust of wind, and that strange nighttime fear that shows up right when I’m supposed to relax. It’s like my brain thinks bedtime is a haunted house and insists on checking every emotional closet for ghosts. And yes — there’s still that lingering possibility of cancer hovering in the background. Not a certainty, not even something to panic over according to the doctors, but it’s there. A little...

Today I sat in a urologist’s office—fluorescent lights, sterile walls, and that familiar scent of medical “clean” that never actually feels clean. The doctor gave me the results: there’s a 20% chance I have prostate cancer. Not a guarantee, not a death sentence, but enough to stop a man in his tracks for a second. I told him I quit smoking 26 days ago, and he congratulated me like I just crossed the finish line of a marathon. “That’s the best thing you could be doing right now,” he said. Funny how 26 days can suddenly feel like 26 years...

Back in my hometown of Fullerton—home of coffee shops, college kids, and overachievers—I'm staying with my mother instead of the run-down halfway houses where temptation floated through the air like cheap incense. Here, I’m not surrounded by smoke breaks, porch philosophers puffing away, or “just one cigarette won’t hurt” logic traps. Life is quieter. Cleaner. Maybe even classier. But here’s the funny thing about getting healthy: when you remove one chaos, you sometimes discover another. Now that I'm not around dozens of people every day in recovery housing, I find myself needing to build friendships again. Real ones. Not “we...

Last night, I got paid—over a thousand bucks. And I’m not paying rent right now. Cue dramatic music. Dun-dun-duunnn. This, my friends, is a brand-new level in the Smoking Cessation Game. Up until now, quitting smoking has been like dieting when there’s no pizza in sight—you know, the easy part. I had every penny spoken for: art shows, books, future conventions, and the glorious vision of Dan Joyce Art taking over Comic-Con like a creative wildfire. Every dollar had a purpose, and none of those purposes included cigarettes. But now? There’s money in my pocket. Real temptation money. “I could...