Day 346
The quit is in a very weird place now.
The craves aren't like they were 200 or 300 days ago. It's like they're now in my marrow instead of right on my fingertips, and they speak Urdu or Cantonese or some other fucking language I don't understand, but I still HEAR them and know what they're saying is no good. What's worse, they seem to come screaming in real quick-like, do some heavy damage and then evaporate, leaving calm in their wake.
My craves are now kamikaze. Goddamn imperial Japanese craves.
But it's no big deal. Why? Because dipping is really, truly, absolutely not an option.
And this brings up more weirdness.
I'm at a point where the idea of dipping is very foreign to me. I cannot, at all, picture myself buying a can and packing a lip. I can't fathom being on spitter-watch in public garbage cans or being a ninja dipper or monitoring my mucous membranes for signs of cancer.
I can't even picture enjoying a dip or, more importantly, the habit. And that's very new to me. Since Day 1, I have been able to recognize the upside of quitting. But until recently, I always felt like I would enjoy a dip or have a much easier existence if the habit was back in my life. No longer. I feel like, today, I'd enjoy a dip about as much as I'd enjoy chomping down and filling my molars with my own shit.
So WHY am I packing Smokey Mountain right now, as I write? Why do I sometimes find myself in a goddamn seed and water frenzy, like a squirrel who ate a block of D-Con? Why do I still feel that void so acutely, so often?
The real weirdness is that, now, not even dip will help me fill the void, yet I still feel it, and I feel it because of dip...because of 15+ years of addiction. Know what I mean?