Secondhand smoke. You either love it or hate it. Sometimes it's both.
When I'm fully immersed in my new identity as a non-smoker, the smell disgusts me. I walk down Queen St, catch a whiff of secondhand smoke and immediately feel revulsion. How did I ever find that smell pleasant? How did I ever pump that poison into my body, many times a day, day after day?
But just as often, when my willpower isn't as strong, I find the smell utterly enticing. It smells better than I remember it tasting - it smells bloody good. Sometimes, as I pass a smoker on the street, I find myself deliberately inhaling deeper, trying to recreate even a glimmer of that buzz I used to feel when I puffed on a cigarette.
I know it's counter-productive to my goal. I don't know why I do it - why I taunt myself like that. I just can't help it. There's something about that smell.
When I find myself weakening like that, I have to remind myself of my past failures. I have to think back to my previous feeble attempts at quitting - and, specifically, to those moments when I gave in to my addiction.
Not once did it feel good to light up again. Sure, there's a rush that comes with that first hit of nicotine. But it doesn't taste good - not anywhere near as good as it smells. Maybe it doesn't even smell good - maybe it's just the addiction trying to convince me I need a cigarette. And then there's the heavy lungs; the lingering stench on my sleeves; the guilt. Especially the guilt.
And then it's back to square one.
When I think about what it's like to spark up again - what it's really like, not what the addicted part of my brain tries to convince me it's like - then the whole idea is utterly disgusting.
Sometimes it's good to dwell on failure - if it helps you to succeed.
To take part in Stoptober, visit www.stoptober.nz
For help quitting, visit Quitline at www.quit.org.nz or phone 0800 778 778