I've been a frequent visitor to this site. I'd sit here, with a fat dip in course, and browse around reading various posts. I enjoyed reading the HOF speeches the most. Success stories, of any kind, have always given me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Not once did I ever envision myself being in a position to understand what it's like to kick the can. I've always thought about quitting, but never gave it any consideration whatsoever.
I knew quitting would be difficult, but I convinced myself that I truly enjoyed dipping. And I honestly did. I mean, why quit something you love to do? It was the one thing in life that always made me happy. I could always count on it to solve most of my every day problems. It even came in useful during my tour in Iraq...it cured my bordem, kept me awake during patrols and provided cheap amusement (watching an Iraqi civilian dip for the first time is possibly one of the funniest things I've ever seen). It practically ran my life. I couldn't function without it. Taking a shower without a dip? HAHAHA...I would rather put on a blindfold and run against the flow of traffic on I-35 during rush hour. It chose my employer for me. I passed up several great paying jobs because I would have been forced to go 8-10 hours with my only dip occuring my lunch hour. I based my eating habits on how much dip I had. I absolutely refused to eat if I was unable to dip afterwards *blah blah blah, you get the picture*. To make an already long story somewhat shorter...dipping had me by the short and curlies and it kept getting worse.
I woke up yesterday and spontaneously decided to quit. I thought 4 cans a day for 13 years was getting to be too much. It was either cold turkey right then or never. I flushed 11 cans down the toilet and began the journey. I thought I'd be a little cranky and restless and everything would be A OKAY. 40 hours later and I'm a complete mess. I thought nothing could compare to the tussle I had with kicking my opiate addiction a few years ago. WRONG!! I'll gladly take that week of cramps, vomiting and perfuse sweating over this. What the hell was I thinking Sunday morning? Is karma finally catching up to me and biting me in the ass? I'm beginning to think I picked the most inopportune time to quit. Any sane individual would have thought this through. I've always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda guy so creating a plan wouldn't have been in the picture anyway. Maybe I need to change out my tampon, clean the sand out of my vag (no offense to the ladies on here!) and man up. I'm letting a 40, now 41 hour, nic fit turn me into a total basketcase, but that's okay. I've had many memorable moments in my life and this will more than likely top them all if I'm successful. I say 'if' because optimism is being clouded by pounding headaches and the constant desire to put my fist though the wall. For once in my life, being a quitter sounds fantastic. I know it's all about mind over matter, but this is brutal. I'm pulling through one hour at a time. Hopefully soon, that will turn into one day at a time.
It's amazing all the support that everyone gives each other on here. Great to see that others went through what I am going through...and survived to tell about it.
**I understand this is a lengthy introduction and probably should have kept it short and sweet and to the point. I find passion in helping others and it was a wordy, unorganized post like mine that helped to jump start my recovery from opiates. Sometimes it takes being able to relate to someone else before you're able to take that first step. Someone might stumble on to this site unaware of how dangerous smokeless tobacco can be. If they are able to relate, maybe they can open their eyes to the true danger, understand that they aren't alone and find the strength to quit.**
