When Dreams Act As Revelations (Part 2)

The realization came about two weeks ago that all of this effort to come clean of alcohol addiction was only going to work if I was to give up the other, and at times more powerful and harmful, habit...tobacco. Now I had dropped this in the past and felt as though I could do it again, even while shedding the burden of alcohol. Well, really, I needed to be honest with myself and admit that the pride of being alcohol-free only meant so much if I still smoked. I would still be chemically dependent, right? So on Wednesday, June 3, I became officially smoke-free.

Oh, I was proud, anxious and excited. The first day went by well enough and I glided through treatment the next. It wasn't until AA Thursday night when I let my group know of my decision that the guys, almost in unison, exclaimed "they say you shouldn't do both at the same time", "you'll be back to doing one or the other" and not exactly supportive things as such. I was surprised, especially since these are the same guys that say almost every other night how exactly evil smoking is. As disheartening as this was, I knew deep down it was the only way to go, and if I wasn't going to do it now, I would always find an excuse to procrastinate in the future. I had the power to overcome the urge, and I took everything I had learned in the previous weeks with me to the fight.

That night I was enjoying more than 24 hours clean, and went to bed for the first time in a long, long while without even the thought or urge. This is where my overactive mind comes into play, much like it did in the first days of becoming alcohol-free. I did not consider the previous dream before I went to bed, yet when the actual moment came I knew what I was facing. This particular dream was not nearly as involved as the first time around but it provided the same amount of relief.

This was a simple, single outdoor scene with dull colors on the verge of black-and-white. Two men approached me, one with no real distinguishable features and the other looking like Rocky Balboa had really let himself go. Potbelly, disheveled clothing, wild hair black as coal (significant color), unshaved and surly. This character walks up to me, sticks his finger in my face and shouts that he will proceed to kick my ass in the next couple days, apparently when I least expect it. There was the very brief instance of "what the hell" that quickly turned to into an incredible amount of disgust, anger and resistance boiling up inside me. "Let's just do this right now!" I shouted. I was going to deal with this fool on my terms and not wait around for him to trip me up. I began to rip off layers and layers of jackets, sweatshirts, and t-shirts (so many!) all the while letting it be known that it was I that would be walking away from this confrontation in one piece. The expression on his face was one of the bully that never gets stood up to, but when it finally happens he needs to change his pants. It was absolute confusion, and he kept looking to his partner for an explanation. It was all over before it even came to blows.

I woke up with a very pleasant smile knowing full well what just happened. I felt completely free. By simply standing up for myself I had defeated this unkempt and uncivil character supposedly hell-bent on defeating me. To me, he was the embodiment of the cigarette habit. He was dirty, unhealthy, and his hair so black and twisted I knew it right away. It is said that the first three days without tobacco are the hardest, and considering I had 24 hours under my belt this would explain why he threatened to whoop me in the next forty-eight.

So here it is, eighteen days later...


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