Anyway. I did not drink to excess last night. And you know… I feel OK. I feel better than usual. I also only smoked two cigarettes yesterday. These are longtime goals of mine– do not drink to excess every god damn motherfucking night, and, as a corollary, do not, having drunk to excess, stand out on the porch and take a couple drags off a fresh cigarette and then put it out, then go back in the house and take a shot, look at shit on wikipedia, then, fifteen minutes later, go back out and relight and take another couple drags off the cigarette until the thing is gone, and you have then smoked four cigarettes that day. And drunk six tall brandies. And you wake up with a fog in your sinuses, you know… some hissing behind your forehead, sour phlegm in your mouth, and a cough that feels like it can’t quite reach the very bottom of your lungs where a couple oysterlike lumps of mucous are sitting in a soup of ashes and tar.
So today is not one of those days. And I feel somewhat better. The thing is, merely feeling a notch or two physically better does not even begin to address the larger problems in your life. The day to day, just– suck. The removal of this small negative does not quite get you to zero. And that’s all life is, a struggle to get to zero.
Still, fuck it. I have kind of learned how to not smoke a cigarette. Just take a deep breath and get through it. Just take a deep breath, and then another deep breath, and then a million more deep breaths, and during each of these breaths, perpetually put off smoking a cigarette. Just do that forever, and you’ll be fine. Despite, you know, if you are a person with self-awareness, you will notice that you are beginning to think psychotic hateful thoughts about those around you. You start thinking about your family and friends, and whoever comes to mind, you dredge up some perceived slight they inflicted on you, maybe decades ago, and you start gnawing at it, obsessing over it, this thing this person did… that fucking prick. And you start to have long, elaborate fantasies about killing them, beating them, screaming at them, making them cry. You’ll do that for hours, going through an inventory of everyone you know, thinking about how they fucked you over, and playacting your revenge on them. Maybe you can kind of take a step back for a minute and acknowledge that it’s just the nicotine, you know. You can do that for a second… but if you are going to sustain this without snapping off a broom handle and using it to impale your neighbor, you have to hang back constantly , every second, forever, without once lapsing into just feeling what every cell in your being is pushing on you with the force of fucking oceanic tides. Tectonic plates. Not ever abandoning that super-conscious rational awareness that it’s just some chemical withdrawal; it’s not real. Never getting overwhelmed by that, just maintaining a constant perfect vigil over every thought and image that your demonic mind tosses at you, forever. As long as you don’t fuck that up once, you’ll be fine.
The idea of not doing something, ever, for the rest of your life, and the corresponding obsession over that thing that knowing you must never do it brings about– seeing a fucking cigarette in front of a bar or in a movie or whatever will never be innocuous, ever– not doing something for the rest of your fucking life despite every cell of your being railing against not doing it… I mean, god damn, dude. It is so much harder not to do something stupid than it is to do something stupid.
Anyway, it’s not as though not drinking has made me particularly sharp, has it? I still kind of feel like ass. It doesn’t make me feel good, it just turns the feeling like shit knob down a couple notches. I’m still walking around at like a negative 2. To feel good, I’d need to have a gurney with a hot sixteen year old on it lashed to my hips and just be constantly walking around with her sucking my dick. Maybe I need to eat more fruit or something.
delicioustacos 
“The idea of not doing something, ever, for the rest of your life, and the corresponding obsession over that thing that knowing you must never do it brings about– seeing a fucking cigarette in front of a bar or in a movie or whatever will never be innocuous, ever– not doing something for the rest of your fucking life despite every cell of your being railing against not doing it… I mean, god damn, dude.”
This is me on NoFap.