Quitting Countdown or Quit Counting

I have quit smoking. Stopped, ceased, abandoned. Abandoned what had been a pleasurable experience for me.

I began counting at 10:00 PM CST on February 19, 2014, even though my official quit day was the next. I began counting then because that was the time that I stamped out my last cigarette. Some ex smokers, ex drinkers, ex drug addicts count days. I need to count each and every hour, each second. I even count the number of night time hours, because I will never be able to count the number of times I got up at 2:23 AM, or 1:17 AM or icantbelieveimgettingupagain:o'clock AM to have a cigarette. I've been thinking about it, planning for it in the best way possible for me, meticulously. I've prepared a spreadsheet. I take my blood pressure every day at the exact same time and record it. What is my pulse? Has my weight changed? I put it all on the spreadsheet. My spreadsheet is my steering wheel, my vehicle, my history. But I must have a formula wrong somewhere. The spreadsheet says it has only been 60 hours, but that can't be right. Where is the fourth day?

I do the math in my head. Three times 24 plus twelve is 84, right? Yes. But the spreadsheet has lost a day somewhere. I need to remember from the beginning.

Day one I felt a terrible sadness, a profound melancholy almost, that still lingers over me like the smoke I no longer inhale. I walk around trying to get out from under it, but I can't, so I wrap it around me and go on with my days.

Day one night has me dreaming things incredible. I reach up and rub my face. My hand comes back sticky with blood. I get up from bed and stumble to the bathroom and sit in the tub. Blood is seeping from everywhere, leaking. Then I feel a strange scratching on my chest, like sandpaper. I awake with a start as my cat, Moby is licking sweat from my chest.

Day two. Day two was only yesterday! The spreadsheet didn't lose a day, I made one up. Damnit! Here I thought I was farther along than just Day Two. I count again. DAY TWO. Day two has my mind racing. I am fidgety, restless. I feel like I have OD'd on Red Bull. I am a walking advertisement for adult attention deficit disorder. My mind is thinking of everything, but resting on nothing.

Today is day three. The sadness is still here, but my AADD has been replaced by a silent scream. I am impatient. I want to be by myself and left alone, but I have things to do that require me to interact with people. I want to yell ShutupshutupshutupSHUTUP as loud as I can, but I will stifle the urge to lash out at those closest to me and even those who are not. I know this feeling, too, shall pass.

Tomorrow, day four, is coming. I can wait to see what is in store for me, but it will come nevertheless. I can't wait when I don't have to count anymore.