16,543. That is me, a number, nothing special. I am the 16,543rd member to register at Kill the Can. I am also other numbers (move over Rainman, you phag). I started dipping when I was 24 and quit when I was 40. That means that I was intentionally killing myself for 40% of my life.
I spent on average 10-12 hours a day with a huge dip in. Conservatively, that’s 58,400 hours of active dipping. That’s 17% of all hours that I have been alive I’ve been trying to die.
At 1.2 minimum ounces per can, and one can day, that’s 8.4 ounces per week, 438 ounces per year and 7,008 ounces over 16 years. That’s 438 pounds of dip consumed.
At 2.5″ diameter and 7/8″ height, a can of dip has a volume of 4.3 cu.in. That’s 30.1 a week, 1569.5 a year or 25,112 cubic inches of dip over 16 years. That’s 14.53 cubic feet, or a decent full refrigerator’s worth.
The average cost of $5.84 per can, at one a day, for 16 years is $34,105.60. That’s the same price as a 2013 Ford Mustang GT Premium.
I am not the 16,543rd person to make the Hall of Fame however; many have fallen to old habits. Call dip whatever you wish: moist tobacco, cat turd, snuff, etc. I call it evil and for 16 years it won over every decision in my life.
- Evil won the battle between having a multi-hour dip alone at home, and crashing at my wife’s place (then girlfriend), a former Playboy Lingerie Issue model.
- Evil won the battle between spending quality time with my daughters, and hiding in the bathroom sneaking a dip.
- Evil won the battle between chilling out with my wife, and pretending to have hours of work to do in my office.
- Evil won the battle between spending $5 on lunch, and spending $5 on a can of dip.
- Evil won the battle between getting to bed at 11pm, and dipping until 2 am.
- Evil won the battle between eating three squares a day, and being called anorexic (no time to eat with a mouthful of shit).
- Evil won the battle between driving the shortest route from point A to point B, and driving for miles out of the way just to savor a few extra minutes of dip time. I did however expense those miles so that was nice.
- Evil won the battle between hugging my wife and risking her feeling the can in my back pocket (between my wallet and me), and abstaining from showing affection to my soul mate.
- Evil won the battle between saving money to spend on things my family needed, and sneaking $5 at a time for dip.
- Evil won the battle between staying at the hospital when my 16 month old had pneumonia, and racing home to dip by myself thinking it would help me relax. What a loser father I was.
- Evil won the battle between being a complete loner, recluse, addicted douche bag, and openly discussing my problem with the woman that I made a vow to. (I’m still a loner, recluse, and douchebag but at least I admitted to my wife that I was a dipper)
I am an addict, and asshole, and a raging douche bag (although I do not have a fake DB tan). Always have been in every component of my life, and always will be. There is no pill cure for nicotine addiction or for being a douche.
Everyone on my mother’s side of the family has died from cancer: lung, breast, liver, brain, you name it. Read that again, it’s not an exaggeration. Everyone on my mother’s side of the family has died from cancer. A cousin and I have searched for a death of natural causes, a stroke, a grabber, bolt of lightning, the fucking Titanic… no luck. Cancer. My mom never smoked and rarely drinks; only the occasional vodka gimlet with extra lime juice on a holiday. She never went in the sun yet fought skin cancer. Now she is battling uterine cancer and undergoing chemo. When I was little my mom told me that if I ever smoked she “would break my knees”. When a Sicilian woman tells you that, it is a literal threat not an empty promise. I never smoked, and still have knees, but I did dip and she never knew about it. Maybe if she caught me Uncle Cosmo would have broken my legs and I would have quit years ago.
Never have I loved and hated something with such voracity as I do with dip. I craved it and would go to extremes to get it. I would plan ahead to have enough for the weekend or stash away enough for a ninja-dipping vacation with the family. Every time I bought a can I hated it. I hated giving the money to Big Tobacco. I hated that nicotine was more important than my family and my own life. I hated that every gas station near my home would have a tin on the counter ready as soon as I walked in. I hated the fear getting an oral cancer diagnosis from the dentist. I hate the debate in my head of whether I will fight it and live disfigured for a few more years, or if I will lay down, accept my fate, and hopefully go quickly. I wanted to quit with every can bought, but was a weak pussy addict.
The bad news was delivered by my dentist on my quit date, 10/10/12. He said things that I will never forget. “I see cellular changes”. “It doesn’t look good at all”. “I’m not going to send you for a biopsy yet, but I want to see you in 30 days after you are nicotine free”. “I want you to be a patient for a long time”. Have I been back to the dentist? No. Why not? I have no idea. I’m an asshole, an addict, and a douche bag. Maybe what he saw 100 days ago healed itself. Maybe what he saw then is now stage 1 or 2 cancer. My actions make no sense. You can never understand or reason with an addict, an asshole, or a douche bag.
Am I afraid? Yes and no. I am not afraid of death. I taunt death on a daily basis and appreciate physical pain (all chefs love all forms of pain – be it a burn (accidental or a intentional contest of pain tolerance), a cut (same circumstances as a burn), an 18 day on your feet, or other self-destructive abuse). What I do fear is knowing that my daughters may grow up without me; that they will feel that something in this world was more important than them. That is simply not true. They were and are more important, but there was something stronger than I was. Maybe I won’t be at their college graduation. Maybe not even their high school graduation. Maybe I won’t be there to walk them down the isle, or to see my grandkids. These thoughts torture me daily and they are my own doing.
Upon leaving the dentist that day I threw out everything and went into an immediate funk, fog, shock and do not remember how I stumbled onto KTC that night, but I am glad I did. This site works for me. Quit for today and today only. Post roll and promise to your group that you will not use nicotine in any form. Repeat tomorrow. So simple and yet it works.
If anyone is still reading (sorry for my diarrhea of the keyboard) hopefully it is a newbie that just joined or is thinking of joining. You can’t quit nic alone. Sure, one in a hundred may be able to, but chances are you are not him. I couldn’t do it. I would have caved every day after day one. Why didn’t I cave? Why didn’t evil win on any of the previous 99 days? Because I got involved here. I got to know my fellow quit badass brothers. I made a promise to them that I would not use and I stuck to it. I did not want to let them down! We have a bond, a brotherhood; we quit at the same time and pulled through the fog together. They didn’t cave today and neither will I.
At night, or whenever possible, when my cravings are the worst I log into Live Chat. Chat is where I really got to know guys from KTC and they are the ONLY reason I am quit. So, shout out and everlasting gratitude to those I chat with day and night and text with during the day. I will not name specific names for fear of leaving someone out. You know who you are. Maybe you were they guy that sent me my first PM words of encouragement. Maybe the guy that first offered a phone number. Maybe you were the first guy that gave me a shout-out as a supporter in Jackwagin Roll. Maybe you are the first guy to ask via text, how big my cock is or if I am nude in Chat (the answers are huge and of course). Hold your head up high today for you helped someone reach the HOF and maybe even avoid a horrific death. You are badass quitters and I think of you all as friends. I hope that I have been able to pay a little forward to the newbies that have come after me.
100 days nicotine free. An excuse to ramble on, but I am not cured. Dip was, and is, evil and I am still an addict, an asshole, and a douche bag. A cave is, and will always be, lurking. I will not think about the second floor, next month, or even tomorrow. I will quit for today. I made my pledge to not use today by posting roll, and I will repeat tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day, a new struggle, and I will face it then.