I've failed to quit smoking three times, and its hurt a little more every time.
Attempt 1 - Late 2005: My girlfriend, who I'm still with and who is the most low-maintenance yet loving, caring and awesome person I've ever met, broke down in tears about how I was so addicting to niotine. This is sort of like a New York cop breaking down into tears because you won't give him his hat back. I felt a bit pissed off about being guilt-tripped into quitting, and had myself a cigarette on my way back from her flat that night, but nevertheless made a concerted effort to quit smoking the morning after.
I lasted about four days before I thought 'Hey, it won't matter if I buy a pack of ten, just for emergencies'. One-a-day became two, then five, then ten, then fifteen, which is what I was putting away before. FAIL.
Attempt 2 - Mid 2006: This time I had one of those epiphanies. I said, one day, I can't remember which, that I was going to quit smoking. 'For good this time'.
I lasted six days. I found out my dissertation for Uni had to be in seven days time, and I still hadn't done any writing and/or research for it. Went to the shop, bought cigs, caned cigs, wrote essay, passed with flying colours. FAIL.
Attempt 3 - Late March 2008
This time, this was it. I'd promised my girlfriend, the same lovely understaning girlfriend as before, that I would quit. I booked a week off work to help me (I work in a pub) and booked a small holiday in Edinburgh for us. All through the trip I was grumpy and irritable, but I lasted. On the second day, rather than have an immediate cigarette, we simply scaled Arthur's Seat, the big hill thing in the middle of the city. It was nine in the morning, I was on top of this big hill thing in the gorgeous sunshine, the sky was clear, my lungs were clean, and I felt brilliant.
I lasted three and a half glorious weeks, before I asked a work-mate to roll me one when I was drunk. I smoked it and felt dirty, guilty, yet also like I actually didn't need that cig in the first place. That didn't, however, stop me from stealing the odd cig after shifts here and there from other work colleagues, until one day there I was buying a small pack of ten 'just for emergencies'. I'm still 'quitting' now, after nabbing four cigarettes throughout tonight's shift, as well as two from my dad when he came up to visit during the day. FAIL. FAIL. FAIL.
I am a weak-willed moron, and these continual failures to quit the weakest of all 'vice' drugs has made me feel awful. Smoking 15-20 cigarettes a day against the will of your loved ones feels a hell of alot better than smoking four small rollies a day behind their backs, and then telling them you're 'doing well' with quitting.
Don't be a dick. Do it properly.
And good luck fella.