It's making me think of the last time I quit -- fall 2003. I remember n0thingman taking me out bowling as a form of distraction. I remember that H.W.S.R.N. and I had our huge falling out about one week into it (and over my LiveJournal, no less). My falling out with lurpy followed soon after. I remember the death of Molly, the last of my rats. I don't know if it was those factors, or the withdrawal, or both that made me such an emotional mess. And yet somehow I stayed not smoking through all of that, through months of agony, until the deaths ... of Bob, and of my Grandmother. And then I let those things serve as an excuse, and it opened the door ... sent me sliding down that hill, and got me back to where I am now.
I'm scared. Totally fucking scared. Like I told unixd0rk, I know I can do it, it's just that I don't know if I can do it, you know?
Fuck. I'm gonna give sleeping another try.