When kneeling is better than standing on your own two feet.

Firstly let me assure you that the title of this piece in no way insinuates that I spent a brief time in early youth living in Eastern Europe working as a fluffer on a Swedish porn set. The title also does not infer that this will be a religious piece although ironically it starts out with a confession.


I am an idiot. Although to my merit I am a gifted idiot. 10 years ago I had the world at my feet. Since then I have technically fulfilled all the requirements of my original 5 year plan. But in a tale as old as time, where fulfilment had been planned only severe dissatisfaction stood. For as you may recall 5 year plans often changed to 10 year plans, which meant my ten year plans were delayed quite severely.

I believe my dissatisfaction may have had to do with the fact that my ten year school reunion was later this year. Yes I know it sounds ridiculously Hollywood fetish sized, and a little petty, but I am sure I would have loved to go back, into that bloodthirsty arena of semi formed people, which was highschool and internally gloat regarding how much more awesome my life was than, “Jimmy” that bullied me or “Mindy” who left me for him.*

Unfortunately I was half way down my 10 year plan and therefore my chopper entrance at the reunion would have to be replaced with me hoping my old beat up Peugeot would make it all the way back to my hometown, which was all but a millionty billionty miles away.

Realising that I was not going to be able to acquire the necessary finances or skills to pilot my own chopper in a three month period, I decided to make due with putting together a three month personal improvement programme, a list I like to call the “patchtheholesoflosthopesanddreamswitheasilyattainableshorttermgoals” list or “phlhdeastg” list, which is pronounced with a silent k.

This list included just one topic, become roughly more responsible. Which seems like a nice short list of one non descript items, easily achievable by justification. For example, I have stopped drinking beer and therefore am roughly more responsible. To which my friends would exclaim that I never drank beer. To which I would rebuke there's a good reason why.

Below is a breakdown of what I imagined would fall under this broad topic.
• Get healthier aka join a gym
• Stop smoking
• Get your own apartment, no more flatmates. (unless sexy swimsuit model)
• Drink less and all the unhealthy things that usually accompany that activity that may be considered morally offensive.
• Stop eating everything within line of sight and things you are imagining in your head while eating everything within line of sight.

So I embarked on this voyage of ineptitude. I joined the gym and quit the smoking, and this is what happened.

Catastrophic implosion of everything I thought I knew about myself. Gym proved I was indeed as out of shape as I had imagined, but not admitted, and smoking was in fact not a bad habit but indeed my entire personality.

Apparently to me cigarettes were not a crutch and removing them did not cause me to just hobble along like someone with a sprain. Removing cigarettes was like chopping off my legs, tying them to rapid dingoes and chasing them into an Australian brush fire.

I was, just before quitting cold turkey, smoking around the region of 35 - 40 cigarettes a day. Which means smoking had become a full time occupation as that meant I smoked for over 200 minutes a day, just under three and a half hours.
Plainly this was not just a case of nicotine addiction, but something much, much worse. I started smoking before I opened my eyes in the morning, I smoked with my coffee, I smoked with my booze, I smoked when I stressed, I smoked when I was angry, sad, hungry, tired, not tired, I smoked in celebration, I smoked when I had successfully taken a crap.

I was a giant smoky ball of discontent and after 10 years the cracks were starting to show. So I quite, causing my entire support structure to fall out from underneath every aspect of my life, leading to a massive burnout about a month and a half into quitting, including severe depression, panic attacks and feeling like a truck drove over my head.

A month and a half? Wait aren’t withdrawal symptoms suppose to end two weeks after you quit?
That’s what I thought, but let me lay some science on your ass. (That’s what she said? Wait what?) Serotonin. Or in layman’s (what she said...) terms, the lubricant(oh no...) of the brain(saved).
Recent studies have shown that cigarette smoke, not the nicotine, the smoke, contains chemicals that function as antidepressants or mood stabilisers, the exact same thing serotonin is suppose to do. So cigarettes are a highly carcinogenic anti depressant I had been self medicating with for over ten years.

The more I smoked the less serotonin my brain produced, the more I smoked. So quitting cold turkey meant my brain had gone from being a well synthetically-oiled machine, to being as effective as spitting on one of those scrubbing sponges and trying to sand down a Sherman tank into a toothpick.

Well I’m better now, I just don’t sleep as well and my brain feels dry, but this is also progressively getting better. How? Zyban or more specifically it’s big brother Wellbutrin. A mood stabiliser, which according to my MD I should have started taking 2 weeks prior to quitting not a month and a half after. Yes I am on mood stabilisers, which (predominately to my pride)makes me feel like I should be in a loony bin.

This of course I have realised is me once again being dramatic, which I tend to be, it’s what make me so damn cute.

Not being able to handle life occasionally is apparently natural. Or as my dad always says “although life is hard, it has always been very popular” I have since then realised everyone I know has been on some form of support in some way,shape or form, be it drinking too much, or smoking or straight up Prozac.

If you have read to here, we finally get to the point I have been trying to make. Next time you are thinking of making a mayor life change, don’t be too proud to ask for help and if life drops you to your knees, take it with as much grace as possible. Get back up and come out swinging.


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ADDENDUM:

I wrote this months ago, since then everything has gotten better. I have reached a level of normality, which a few months ago seemed like something I had lost forever. Yay for relative normality!

*please note that the real names of these individuals have been changed to avoid me using the c-word prolifically. Just for clarity sake I am refering to clubsoda.