I started smoking extremely young, basically as a result of peer pressure. I don’t think I was actually addicted for a few years (was barely inhaling for much of the time). And I even quit once, way back then, but realized that I couldn’t see all of my friends if I didn’t go out to the courtyard to have a cigarette. And so I started up again, and shortly after, I did get addicted.
For me, now, smoking is less about what is appealing, than about what is unappealing about NOT smoking - I am absolutely unfit for human consumption when I’m in the throes of withdrawal. I used to :dubious: whenever I read that cigarettes can be more addictive than heroin, but I started cluing in on some telltale things. If I even knew that I was going to run out of cigarettes, I would start freaking out (and, oddly, start smoking even more). If I did run out of cigarettes, I would turn my house upside down looking for a forgotten pack (I actually tend to be very lucky with this, and usually find one.) If I can’t find whole cigs, it’s time to start digging through ashtrays, looking for anything long enough to light. The entire time, I’ll be disgusted with myself, but it doesn’t stop me from doing it.
I watched British Big Brother over the summer, and there was a housemate named Nadia who had notorious temper tantrums whenever they ran out of their tobacco rations. One of the first episodes I saw showed her in tears, saying she’d rather leave the house than be without cigarettes, and I knew exactly how she felt. I don’t cry often, but give me a long time without cigarettes, and waterworks are looming at any second. And after a period of serious deprivation, that first cigarette is very, very close to an actual high.
Glad to say though, that I have seriously reduced my habit. Two years ago, I was pushing 2.5 packs a day, easily. Now, I smoke maybe just over a third of a pack - about 6 or 7 cigarettes, a day. It might not be as good as quitting, but it’s gotta count for something.