I've chewed tobacco for 27 years. I'm about to turn 42. Copenhagen was a quarter when I started. I guess it was baseball, but I was never really all that good a center fielder, anyway. Can't even play anymore, the pathology of my right shoulder might fill an entire semester at med school. Time marches on.
I'm an engineer - work in an office like Dilbert. I have a wife I'm still in love with and two great kids, 8 and 10. The youngest is autistic - his diagnosis brought me to my knees and to the edge of life. Both of my brothers and my father-in-law are alcoholics with about a billion years of sobriety between them. I realized not long ago that none of my friends chew any more - just sort of evolved that way without me noticing. You see, I have every reason to quit and, moreover, to succeed at it.
All behavior has a payoff, a reason behind it. I chewed because it made me feel less anxious. But the habit itself also made me anxious. The Quit has been one of those things I know I gotta do but would rather just ignore. I've been avoiding it for so long now. It nags and gnaws at me. Now my number's up. Events past and present bring my level of angst to new heights. The payoff for quitting has grown to be bigger than the payoff for chewing.
I don't know how to tune an engine, clean gutters, play golf, or ski without a dip in my mouth. Thinking about these and a hundred other similar activities without chew pretty much blows. That's why I'm here. I plan to take it one day at a time and when I get to those days I'll be asking for help. Thanks for the offer.