I’ve been thinking a lot about the differences between quitting smoking and quitting drinking these days, for obvious reasons. If you’ve not been here before, start with this post for explanation.
We probably don’t have to get into why cigarettes are bad for you, as we’ve done a really good job as a society in making smokers the lepers of my generation. I’m old enough to remember the days smoking was still permitted indoors. I didn’t smoke then, so leaving an establishment with the blue haze that lingered on my hair and clothes for days after washing is well imprinted on my memory. I remember smokers becoming the group of people huddled as close to buildings as possible for warmth, while also following the 2 meter rule from public entrances. And then when I joined the lepers outside, I learned the sting of the looks and frustration from non-smokers if you got too close.
And I’m certainly not going to diminish how nasty it is for your body. Hell, they print the warnings on the boxes now – with lovely photos of mouth cancer and people dying connected to oxygen tubes. Can you imagine if they did the same for bottles of wine? Pictures of people, skin yellow with liver disease and statistics like: There were more hospital admissions in Canada last year [2016] for alcohol-related conditions than for heart attacks.
But they don’t do that, and maybe never will. The alcoholic beverages market is a global empire which grew from $508.61 billion in 2021 to $559.57 billion in 2022 at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 10.0%. And their marketing strategies are profoundly entranced in the culture of a good time. From my personal experience, this was one of the parts that made quitting the hardest. Not just that it follows you wherever you go, mocking you, but that the cultural acceptance of it is quite different.
To demonstrate, let us make a little switcheroo on a story of a night out, with the cigarettes on display at the bar and the drink in my pocket for emotional support.
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You prepare yourself in advance for this night out with copious amounts of coffee and far too many trips outside with your emotional support pocket friend. You get ready with hesitation wondering if it’s a good idea tonight, if your willpower will suffice. You are tired before you leave the house, but promise your partner you will try to rally. Truly, you don’t want to go.
You start out the night strong at dinner, proud of yourself for not looking at the menu with loads of your favourite cigarettes from your earlier days. You order food and stuff as much in your face as possible to quell the monster inside. You can do this. You believe in yourself.
Then, at the event, as soon as you take your coat off, a kind lady with a display of complimentary cigarettes offers you one. Your politeness overcomes resolve and you thank kind lady as you lift the complimentary cigarette to your lips. You lie to yourself, saying “oh it’s probably not a real cigarette, just a complimentary mock-cigarette” but you know the lie as soon as it is inhaled. You take tiny polite hits as your body responds to the poison. Then abandoned it on a table as soon as you can.
At the bar there’s a box of your favourite type of cigarette and glistening packs of options shimmering in the light of the display case. You firm up your resolve and order a water instead and down it like your life depends upon it, then order another. You carry your water to the table with pride, pleased that your resolve has kept you from harm. It’s stifling warm and you desperately need to get outside for a drink of your pocket friend, so you look for an exit. The exits are far from the event so you hide in a corner and take sneaky sips of the secret pocket friend, being careful not to draw attention.
Back at the event there’s dancing and you join, needing something to do with your body and mind. You enjoy the dancing, even as those around you enjoy cigarettes on the dance floor, whiffs of them hitting your nose with a strange combination of Desire and Despair. The desperate Toxic Twins. You remind yourself that these people don’t have a problem with cigarettes and that this is your burden to bear. You dance and enjoy yourself and break for more water as soon as you can.
When it gets too much, you finally escape to the outside to enjoy another dose of your pocket friend. You pass the sad looks and someone is brave enough to tell you: you know, that alcohol is bad for you. You nod and say yes, I have heard that. See! They print it on the labels now. You drink outside at a polite distance, admonishing yourself for killing yourself this way. Everyone knows alcohol is bad for you, maybe you should just go inside for a cigarette. One can’t hurt right?
You continue to rally and get more and more exhausted from the constant barrage of the Twins, until you find yourself hiding in a corner looking at your phone for distraction. You text your partner that you’re done. Your limit has been reached. You tell partner that they should stay and enjoy themselves. They are kind and leave with you, though that adds a new dose of shame as you couldn’t rally long enough for them to enjoy a few cigarettes with friends. After all, partner doesn’t have a problem with cigarettes. You wait outside, steadied by your pocket friend. Someone stops on the street to ask if you have extra alcohol in your pocket or perhaps something stronger. You are surprised you look like someone who might have something stronger, but also offer some alcohol to stranger. Stranger declines. You wonder who or what you are anymore, as you cannot recognize any of it. You used to be fun. You miss yourself.