Sweet smell of nicotine

Cigarettes. I can smell them. I don't know if someone out on the loading dock is smoking (I'm at work) or if it's just in my nostrils because I'm an addict and my brain can pull tricks like that. I can smell them, though. I know they're out there. Actually, they're right behind me on the shelf. We don't sell my brand, but I don't think that would matter to me much right now. All I want is a cigarette.

But I told you last night I had a drag and it was awful, right? I couldn't eveinhale it. It just made me cough. But I loved the smell, the art of it. I wanted one.

Why do I want a cigarette so much? Cause I'm losing my mind. Cigarettes are my comfort, my security blanket. More than drinking, smoking is what I did to feel better. It kept me breathing at steady rates: in, and out. I have a tendency to hold my breath when I'm stressed, but smoking makes you breathe.

So what do I do? How do I get through this "hump" without substances? I suppose if I can make it now I can do it forever, but we'll see. What's nice is I don't want to drink. I made up my mind that being an embarrassment is bad, and I'm not going back there. But smoking just smells; it doesn't make you act like an idiot. Maybe I shouldn't have quit.