A Nerdy Model: Chapter 1 High School

Chapter 9: Role Model, How I Stopped Smoking

I went back out to the waiting room, still feeling underdressed. The next this we were told was we had to do an interview.

I was being interviewed by David Tsang Ho, and I instantly gained and lost his respect in the course of his interview. One of his questions: "What is a conundrum?" "A puzzle." I said, without hesitation. He looked up, surprised. "Wow," he said. "No one I've ever asked that knew the answer off the top of their head like that." Nice. My ego is fed. We start talking some more. "So, why do you smoke?" I'm holding a lit cigarette. "Well," I say before I take a drag. "I'm really impatient. And it gives me something to do with my hands." And he looks disgusted. "That's the dumbest reason I've ever heard. You're gonna give yourself lung cancer just so you have something to do with your hands?!" My ego is flattened. It's not that I feel like I have to earn Tsang Ho's respect. It's more that I'd gained it by being the first person he'd met to know what a conundrum is. (I didn't realize it was that hard a question, honestly.) And then, I lost it. It was true. If you've got ten minutes until your bus comes, nothing like a cigarette to pass the time. Just you and Marlboro. I went from Reds to Lights, to Menthol Lights and back to Lights. Damn, man, I liked it. You start smoking because a) it looks cool and b) it gives you a nice buzz. Seriously, your first time - smoke three in a row and the room starts spinning. You like the buzz, so you keep going, and suddenly, you don't have a buzz at all. You just feel like you need it. I can't really explain nicotene/cigarette addiction, save for the fact it's nothing like any other addiction I've had. It's a lot like breaking the seal. You're at a wedding, you drink a bunch, and you use the bathroom. For the rest of the night, you intermittently feel that pressure on your bladder. You HAVE to go to the bathroom. You might be talking to a really pretty girl, you might be watching the best DVD ever, but you HAVE to go. All else must come second. It's a poor analogy, because when you really must urinate, well... biologically, you really MUST urinate. You never HAVE to smoke, but it's the closest thing I can think of. You don't have to, but you feel like you must. There's nothing gained by it, and even sometimes, you think, "I really don't even like this." But when you're a heavy smoker like I was, it didn't matter. You just had to have a cigarette. When you really have to pee, the longer you wait, the worse it gets. It's the same thing with smoking, really. It starts to consume you. All you think about is, I NEED to smoke. I can't hold it in any longer. I NEED IT! You're not holding anything in - it's really the opposite. You feel empty. Maybe being hungry is a better analogy, but the nagging feeling you get reminds me more of really wanting to go to the bathroom. It's something you have to do, eventually. So, how did I quit? Had have a psychological trigger. This self-evaluation is meant half-seriously, and comes from absolutely zero experience with psychology, save the time my brain and I have spent together. I now wanted to be a model, and this the story of how I quit smoking.

Quitting smoking was no easy task for me. I smoked two packs a day when stressed. I loved the morning cigarette more than anything. Sure enough, the next morning rolls around, I get out of my hotel rom, and I go out and have a cigarette. A guy named Troy, (who will become my best friend in the future) comes outside and sees me smoking. "You gonna try give up smoking?" I thought of something clever to say. "Ah, you know what? For me, I just don't wanna deal with the drama." "Ah," he said. "That's just your addict brain talking." didn't mean it the way I took it. I wasn't insulted, don't get me wrong. But I think he wanted to prepare me for the excuses your mind comes up with when you want to quit an addiction. I would come to know this well enough. But, the way I took it.... was different. "That's just your addict brain talking" translated to "Ah, you know you can't quit." That was my psychological trigger. People told me I couldn't do things, now I have a chance. I don't mean when they say I shouldn't do things, or when they're joking. But when someone seriously doubts my ability, I get stubborn and I draw all of my faculties to prove them wrong. So I smoked my cigarette, bought the patch, and had my last cigarette in the hotel with two frat guys and a woman from Japan. "Dude," said one of the frat guys. "You can take our lighter if you want." (I lit off a match and threw the book into the trash. The smoking room is a plastic bubble and I swear your face gains five years of age when you leave.) "Nah, man." I took my last drag and put the not-empty pack of cigarettes in front of them. "I'm quitting and I mean it. Take 'em." I got back to my room, rolled up my sleeve and put on the patch. My new friend for the next 70 days. Day 1 was easy. "All right! I"m quitting smoking! Yay, me!" Day 2 was hell. We had headshots today. The "No Smoking" sign near the entrance reminded me I wanted a cigarette. I paced like a tiger around the back of the camera set, and kept fixing my hair for no reason. Days 3-5 were no better. It was like a demon in my brain, just a constant stream of screaming WANT. "Stop fucking around. You're not quitting and you know it. You want a cigarette, and you know you do. Stop being stupid and get one." Believe it or not, this is easier to fight than it sounds. IT IS NOT EASY, but it's something you can fight against. It's like being pushed by a car, shifted to neutral, on a downhill slope. Fine, it's tough, but you push as hard as you can, and even if you're not getting anywhere, you're still pushing. The point is, you're fighting something almost tangible. I was lucky, because I got to reflect my expressions in the photoshoots. Day 6-10 became a bigger problem. This is where your addict brain - which Troy tried to warn me about - kicks into gear, and starts compromising. "Come on. You made it a week. You deserve a cigarette as a reward for yourself!" This is much harder. It's more suggestive, and more seductive. You feel like you're winning, because your addiction isn't FORCING you back to cigarettes. But now, it's trying to trick you. But now, you've got nothing to PUSH. Now you have to convince yourself you REALLY want to quit. "Why?" "It's healthier." "You think you care about that? You've lived with me for five years. You know you want me. You know it, and you'll know it the rest of your life. No matter how much you deny it, you'll always want me. So why fight it?" This part got to me. I still wanted a cigarette, badly. I didn't want to live like I was currently feeling. It was hard to concentrate. I'd stare at ashtrays in the hotel. I'd go out and watch my friends smoke. I'd want, always, it felt like. For the next few days, It. Never. Left my mind. I'd go to sleep with it. Except I wouldn't sleep. I'd just stare at the ceiling wanting a cigarette. And I remember a deep crushing thought on Day 7. "I can't live like this. I can't live always wanting a cigarette and thinking about it constantly. I can't do it, it's affecting my concentration. I got to a modeling class, but I just keep getting interrupted with wanting to smoke" And then, came the blow that truly tested everything. I thought, with clarity, and knowledge. I knew: "It's only a matter of time." This was it. This was the end of my willpower. This was the final thought that knocked me out. I knew I couldn't beat it. And even if I beat it for 2 more days, or 20, or 200, I'd be back. It was the most horrible feeling I'd ever felt. It boiled down to: "This is something I can't handle. I'm a smoker for life." I can't describe to you the despair I felt. I knew it. I mean, I believed it with certainty. I knew I'd be back. But, I held on to one thing. "That's just your addict brain talking." By now, I'd figured out what Troy meant. But I didn't listen to that. I made it a taunt. A mantra. It was all I had. It barely felt like it was working, and at the end of the day, I felt like I was not smoking just for the hell of it. Like it was a stupid endeavor. Then there was Day 8. This was it. I had nothing left. It even degraded into "Hold on." But it wasn't getting better. "Just hold on, man." "Why?" "I don't know. Just hold on." I didn't really sleep. I just wondered if this was going to be the rest of my life. Because I couldn't live like this. Day 9. "Just hold on." It was all I had. I held on for no reason. Just holding on for the sake of holding on. Day 10. I fought for the sake of fighting and that was it. And then it came. Day 11. Silence. A small nag to smoke. The patch was fulfilling my nicotene cravings. But nothing. I didn't really want one. I could just walk on the runway and move on. The strong cravings were gone. The seductive conversations, no more. I felt like a true model. Instantly. Just like that. Really. That day, I knew it. I won. You're on the patch for 70 days. And the first 10 are all that counts. Day 11 is when you know. You win. You do kind of want one in the months after, but in the same way you want candy in the first hour of a diet. Think about that. You've resolved yourself to a diet, and sure you kinda want candy, but it's easy to resist. I still like to watch the others smoke. I still enjoy the smell to some extent. But I knew after I was off the patch, I would never go back. Sometimes, I'll cough when people smoke right next to me and want to move away because I can't breathe. (It'd be hypocritical of me to tell them to stop. I was that person, once.) That is my intangible 'fuck you'. I don't have a trophy. I don't have anything to point at, save that I can practice walking up and down the catwalk and not need to catch my breath. I don't cough randomly. My clothes don't reek of charred tobacco. That is my intangible fuck you to Phillip Morris. Fuck you for taking hundreds of dollars from me for nothing. Fuck you for making me your money dog. Fuck you for trying to take years from my life. I hold no lofty ideologies. Young and dumb as I was, it was always my choice to smoke. No one forced me to, except myself. But fuck you, regardless. Fuck. You. And Troy, to this day, one of my dearest friends, I know you didn't mean to doubt my ability or my resolve. But when you told me that fateful sentence, you hit my trigger. It was out of spite that I quit, and the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I thought that you thought I couldn't do it. You saved me a few years of my life, and you'll always be one of my best friends. I hate to say it, but it's the crux of this story, and I must. Fuck you. And thanks.