"Dom" as we liked to call him died about a month after he turned 32. He was a guy I grew up with. We competed against each other in basketball and baseball growing up in a small town. We weren't close friends, but we had a bond in dip. We grew apart after college, but I would see him back home at Thanksgiving and summer breaks. We bummed numerous dips from each other over the years. He loved Kodiak, I was always Skoal man.
He died a quick and painful death. He was diagnosed with Stage IV esophageal cancer 6 months prior. His wife was 2 months pregnant at the time and they had an 1 year old girl. He had in-operable, widely metastatic disease. Towards the last couple of months, his spine collapsed and he required a brace. He couldn't walk. I couldn't bring myself to see him in that condition. He didn't live long enough to see his second child born.
I wish I could tell you that this was a recent event. In happened in 2008. I was quit at that time, but somehow, I ended up back on the can shortly thereafter. I somehow have convinced myself that this couldn't happen to me. The fact that a friend of mine died from dip and I continue to do it is repulsive, embarrassing and downright inexpiable. Like you, the can has a stranglehold on me...
Otherwise, my story is like all of yours. First dip was at 11 years old. Skoal Mint Bandits. I vomited. Some of my friends never tried it again, but for some reason I was determined to keep going. I'm sure I thought it was a cool thing to do. It continued through high school, then college, and continued on. Sure there were attempts and even successes at quitting, but in reality it has been a steady part of my life for 25 years.
I was a hider. Most people didn't know I chewed. However, the never-ending guilt of hiding this from everyone is why I'm here. I want to experience life without dip. No more pinches, not a one. Never again.
Dom didn't get a chance to live without dip and it took his life at 32...I'm determined to get this shit out of my life for good.