It has been a month since I had to worry that absentmindedly swigging from one of the Poland Spring bottles in my central cupholders while driving might leave me with a mouthful of tobacco juice. I feel like that’s a good start.

Most of the time, I did it in my car. A few times in college, I brought it to class. I spit into the mulch of the playground at the park of the MiLB team I was an intern for one summer. And once at the beach I left my friends and took a long walk down toward the rocks where it was less crowded, so I could sit and dip where no one I knew could see me. But most of the time, I did it in my car. 

I don’t have any friends that dip tobacco. I have only one acquaintance, the co worker who introduced me to it, that regularly dips. But I left that job years ago. Lots of people smoke, and everyone knows that is a bad habit. But in my circles, dipping has been a particularly alienating experience. Everyone is repulsed by it. And when you pick this kind of habit up during your formative late teens and early 20s, that does something to you beyond the nicotine cravings. I accepted early that putting this stuff in my mouth was gross and would give me bad breath and yellow teeth and maybe my gums would turn colors and if I kept doing it, they might have to cut off half my face. And I thought about that a lot. Not every time I dipped, but every time I bought a tin. Which by the end was every day. 

When I realized I was addicted, I made it a point not to broadcast the fact that I dipped. A few close friends knew. My sister is my dental hygienist, so I didn’t have to tell her. I reluctantly dipped in front of my little brothers once. That was the worst. But it was a long car ride.

I tried to stop when I met a girl I liked. I didn’t want to do it because I didn’t think she would kiss me if she knew. But a few months into the relationship, I started again, and didn’t tell her. By that time, the nicotine addiction had been broken. But something kept bringing me back. The phrase “nostalgie de la boue” is making a comeback in Odd Future thinkpieces, and it is still the closest cultural description to what I felt when packing a lip. To me it meant acknowledging a series of beliefs about myself and what I was doing. 

1) I am repulsive. Eventually my mouth, face and wherever the cancer might spread will make that clear.

2) I am the only one who is this gross.

3) I deserve whatever happens to me because of it.

Last year I was riding in a car with a new girl, and I decided that I had nothing to lose by pulling out a tin and stuffing my lip. She didn’t know what to say. For me, this was the perfect test. Would she be disgusted, and find reasons not to take any more car rides with me? A psychologist might tell me that was some kind of self sabotage, but I am just a guy who did some bad things to his body for a while, and I thought I would just give her a realistic picture of what I was. She thought the tobacco was disgusting. It clearly bothered her. But she didn’t treat me like I expected. She still thought I was cool. My habit didn’t define how she saw me. 

The past year has been one of tremendous personal growth for me. Professionally, I have grown with the help of a few terrific mentors. I am playing music more. That girl keeps following me around. And I have started to realize how much was wrong with my thoughts about the habit. There are a lot of people that care about me, and want me around. And most of those people don’t look at me any differently now. So I am telling more people. This puts some pressure on me to keep away from the stuff, and helps lift the stigma. Most people have habits, and a lot of them are harmful. This is how I am trying to lose one of mine.