It Never Ends

I’ve waited awhile to post this Hall of Fame Speech. Something still tells me I shouldn’t do it. But I’m doing it now.

Unlike some people on this site, I started dipping when I was long into adulthood. I never smoked, never dipped, never thought about nicotine until I was grown. I was a police officer working the midnight shift in a shitty area of my city: so it was constant stress. One night my zone partner gave me a dip, and it was love at first chew. I felt great, buzzed, relaxed, happy, all those warm fuzzy, positive emotions we associate with dip. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame him. I alone decided to take that first dip. But you know where this goes: first I started bumming dips from him, then I began buying my own cans, telling myself I’d only dip at work. That lasted about six months, so I told myself I’d dip at home too, but only the pouches. Addict’s logic. I threw the pouches out after another month or two, and dipped full time on the long cut. Every day, all day. I LOVE dip. I use “love” in the present tense because I still love dip, although I haven’t had any nicotine in any form since I quit. Dip is always in the back of my mind, chipping away at my resolve. I am an addicts addict. I embraced the rush of nicotine, I lived for it, I reveled in it daily. It was the only thing I looked forward to. Not my family, my beautiful girlfriend, my hobbies, my life, my hopes, but every day it was a can of shit that was slowly eating my gums and jaw up, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was that temporary rush, that good feeling in my chest, the pit of my stomach, my brain, when I stuffed a dip in my mouth. I always made excuses for not quitting: I’ll quit tomorrow, next week,next month, when I’m not so stressed, when work slows down. etc. I’d quit for a week, maybe two, then decide that I deserved to start dipping again.

Then I had my first health scare. It started with a white spot in my cheek that didn’t go away. Then I had trouble swallowing, coupled with a swollen lymph node that wouldn’t heal. I had tests, doctor’s visits, had a biopsy. I really believed I had cancer, that I would die. I thought of slowly wasting away, of dying a horrible death in a hospital, looking like a freak with half my jaw amputated, and despite all of it I still dipped. During this time I finally thought: ” You fucking idiot, you killed yourself with this shit and you’re still doing it!”

I found this site while I waited for my fate, and began posting roll. During the first week of quitting it was hell, like clawing with your fingernails up a cliff. It was horrible. Then I learned I didn’t have cancer, and felt that heavy pull towards a can. I’m fine, I’m still kinda young, I can dip for a few more years. The only thing keeping me quit was my May group. I wasn’t active in the group, just posted roll, but that daily ritual meant everything.
I’m one of those quitters where it hasn’t got easier the longer I’ve quit. Every day I have cravings as bad and as deep as Day 1. I think about dip damn near every minute. But I won’t do it.

I’d rather be here with a face, alive, than getting my face cut off in a hospital while some fat prick at a tobacco company laughs his balls off while a fresh crop of suckers starts dipping.

If you think you can’t quit, I say bullshit. I still am the worst of the worst, I dream about nicotine, but I’ve stayed quit for 150+ days. YOU CAN DO IT.

NOTE: This piece written by KillTheCan.org forum member FinnBarr