Journalist Matthew Backhouse chronicles his efforts to quit smoking for Stoptober in a daily diary.
I was prepared for the cravings. I wasn't prepared for the shivering and sweats, the runny nose, the nausea, the tickly throat. And now, the hacking cough.
My breathing feels worse than before I quit. It's like a cold, or blocked-up sinuses, but without any of the familial sympathy. I'malready starting to expel yellowy-brown globs from deep within my chest. I hadn't expected it so soon - it took a lot longer to get to this point during previous quitting attempts. And this time, it feels terrible.
Maybe it's not the quitting. Maybe I just feel like sh**. Maybe I'm run down and tired from all the effort it takes not to just rip off the patch, grab some smokes and go for it.
But strangely, I don't really feel like smoking. I keep thinking about it all the time - sometimes intensely - but the thought of actually having a cigarette doesn't make me feel any better. The thought is starting to disgust me. The smell on my clothes; the heaviness in my lungs; the idle pacing as I'm ostracised outside in Auckland's terrible spring weather - none of it seems worth it.
I spent a few hours with my son this morning, just the two of us, while my partner slept. It felt great that I didn't have to go outside to fulfill my morning craving before coming back inside, riddled with guilt, carcinogens clinging to my clothes. I felt free, at peace.
I know quitting has its ups and downs. Tomorrow might be harder. But today, despite my body's protests, I felt at ease.