He'd put it off successfully for ten years, but he'd run out of time now. In fact, even in the misery of his withdrawal, Rick knew he might have waited too long, but the quitting itself seemed something he had to do.
Of course, the actual quitting was made more difficult by all the do-gooders who'd come rolling up to announce breathlessly how happy they were for him, etc etc. Some of them - because they represented only too clearly a 90s kind of self-congratulation mixed with a desperateness about running, health clubs, and exercise, etc etc - almost convinced him to start smoking again, they were so offensive. He'd wanted to puke at their feet sometimes. He loved sin. He'd always loved sin. IF YOU'RE GOING TO DO IT, DO IT COMPLETELY; DON'T SETTLE FOR HALF-WAY. He'd never drank half-way. He'd never smoked half-way. He'd loved both. He'd been consumed. There was something about that that had held him, comforted him even. Too hard to explain, but the bottom line was that he felt in his bones that he had a fairly good understanding of self-destruction. Not too many people could give him advice on that one & what he couldn't understand was the mindlessly well-intentioned people who'd always lived cautious, reserved lives now congratulating him on joining their fold. He hated that. He'd never be in their fold. He wasn't quitting to get there. He was quitting so he'd last a little longer, so he'd pass through a door he was fascinated by. Where would he be, he wondered, when he was standing in the world with no booze & no smokes? What would he see there? He had a sneaky feeling it was something big. He had a sneaky feeling he might be completely annihilated by it.

- from John Lent's 'So It Won't Go Away'