The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, September 21, 2022
I must confess: I am on the
verge of buying a vape right
now.
Even after five months of
sobriety, I still love everything
about vaping: the soft crackling
sound when I inhale, the sharp,
euphoric feeling that penetrates
my cerebrum, the subtle thrill
of hiding in a bathroom stall to
carry out the deed discreetly
and, of course, the ability to hit
it at social gatherings to avoid
awkward silences. It delivers
just the right level of sensory
impairment that brought forth
temporary pleasures without
compromising my busy sched-
ule. A brief stroll around cam-
pus will tell you that I am not
alone in my love for vaping.
Vaping devices can take on
any shape and function: there
are colorful, slick, cylindrical
ones; rounded rectangular ones;
Juuls, and other bulkier refill-
able vapes for the cloud-chasing
nerds who are obsessively dedi-
cated to performing vape tricks.
They’re
everywhere-littered
on the ground, stored neatly
next to the cashier at your local
7-Eleven and in the hands and
pockets of your closest friends.
For me, vaping started early,
and old habits certainly die
hard. It was 2017, the winter
of my sophomore year in high
school, when Vans, Fjällräven
Kånken, Instax Minis and Juuls
were in. Out of the blue, my
best friend sent me a link to
purchase a Juul. It was a small,
sleek silver gadget with a small
bulb, charger and slot for refill-
able pods with vaping liquid.
She told me that Juuls were all
the rage right now and asked
that I pay the steep $50 so that
we could share it together. A
week later, I received the Juul
in discreet packaging.
Four weeks later, I was
hooked. There were four fla-
vored
pods
in
2017:
mint,
mango, tobacco and menthol.
Our favorites were the mango
ones, so sweet and potent that
they almost acted as gum. I
would purchase flavored pods
from my classmates through
Snapchat and leave the $30 they
had demanded inside my mail-
box, where they would deliver
the goods.
From those days on, my best
friend and I would vape in
every bathroom we encoun-
tered. From school libraries to
malls and even at our pediatri-
cians’ offices, nowhere was off
limits. This was also around the
time my brain had started to
rely on nicotine to stay produc-
tive. Rewarding myself every
now and then for hard work and
focus had rewired my brain to
seek the sweet release of dopa-
mine triggered by nicotine and
I was utterly unable to focus
without it. Vaping became a
feedback loop for my brain, ner-
vous system and muscles.
This feedback loop would
start when I was confronted
with an especially difficult or
boring class. Upon staring at
the clock for a perfect time to
take off, I would pick a time
to go for a “vape break” in the
bathroom to reward my concen-
tration and hard work, carefully
retrieving my Juul during my
AP classes. When the perfect
timing strikes, usually during
group work, I would tilt my
torso and slide my hand into my
backpack to grab my Juul from
its own compartment inside my
backpack, acting as if I were
shyly inserting a tampon into
my sleeve to avoid the mocking
laughter from my male peers.
Skipping
ever
so
slightly
from the anticipation, I would
then take a brisk walk to the
bathroom, and enjoy my head-
rush there while praying the
other girls didn’t hear the small
crackle of the pod liquid vapor-
izing or notice a faint trace of
said vapor rise above the stall
door. After the effects of vaping
had mostly subsided, I would
then finally walk back all dazed
and confused, trying my best to
act as if nothing had happened.
Sitting back into my seat, I
usually felt a renewed burst of
motivation to finish up my class
work.
During these secret vape
breaks, I felt a brief escape from
the hefty pressure that is earn-
ing back the money my parents
had invested in a Texas hospital
in exchange for four temporary
green cards for the entire fam-
ily.
Whenever my best friend and
I vaped, for that brief, mind-
numbing moment, she and I,
both of Chinese immigrant
backgrounds, escaped the con-
fines of expectations for perfec-
tion. The behavior was revolting
and despicable to school admin-
istrators and parents, rumored
to cause brain damage in devel-
oping brains, but it equalized
with the bland rigidity of the
law-abiding,
extracurricular-
attending, sport-playing life-
style we had in our adolescence.
Every week was the exact same
during the school year in Bos-
ton, the same milky-white sky
and freezing weather. The only
thing that didn’t seem constant
was the consequence of vaping.
Sixteen-year-old me felt almost
like an international spy, hiding
the money in the dead of night,
retrieving the pods inside the
sleeves of my hoodie and slid-
ing it quickly inside my cup of
makeup brushes whenever my
mother would visit my bedroom
to ensure my productivity.
During high school, I would
have periods of sobriety from
time
to
time.
I
oscillated
between vaping and sobriety,
prompted by the intensification
of the side effects of vaping,
signified by sudden headaches
and chest pains. There would
then be subsequent periods of
intense worry for my health. I
was no fool and knew that there
were health consequences. In
a twisted preservation of my
own sanity, I refused to look
up these potential ailments as
vaping had become my coping
mechanism for heartbreak and
laziness.
Fast forward to college, I
remember being involved in an
undefined relationship with a
classmate shortly after we were
permitted to return to campus
after the lockdown. I coped by
vaping whenever I dipped into
the lows of said emotional roll-
ercoaster. Whenever my dispos-
able vape died, I would drag my
feet across the street to-sur-
prise surprise-7-Eleven to pur-
chase a new one at 3 a.m., often
after yet another failed attempt
to quit. In the cooling morning
breeze, I would unwrap it there
on the street and take in deep
inhales, momentarily forget-
ting about my less-than-satis-
factory grades and inability to
end things with him once and
for all.
As the chaos of freshman and
sophomore years subsided, I
found myself working toward
a degree that likely wouldn’t
grant me my desired level of
success post-graduation with
few extracurriculars to discuss
on my resume and knew that
it was now or never: I needed
to fill up that resume. If not, I
could risk wasting hundreds of
thousands of dollars on a use-
less piece of diploma. I was
ready for all-nighters, Red Bull
binges and countless leadership
positions, and it took me right
back to the comforts of my feed-
back loop.
Between all the all-nighters
spent at the UGLI, midterm
cramming at Duderstadt and
anxious moments meeting new
people, I vaped. The feedback
loop was back with full poten-
cy: I would again reward myself
with vaping after concentrat-
ing on my work for a while,
like how parents would reward
their children with playtime
or a candy bar after success-
fully finishing their homework.
Except this time, I could vape
anywhere I wanted in broad
daylight as an adult, erasing
the secrecy element that I have
always associated with vaping.
Periodically, I would attempt to
quit yet again. Still, the mood
swings, cravings and brain fog
that came after would prompt
me into vaping again. I couldn’t
risk enduring these side effects
in the midst of raising my GPA
and searching for a big tech
internship.
Nicotine,
the
stimulant,
bonded with nicotine receptors
in my brain, which regenerated
every time I vaped and were
nearly impossible to satisfy.
The vapor penetrated into my
lungs and bloodstream, raising
my heart rates and constricting
my blood vessels. These effects
helped me concentrate on tasks
for a few minutes or so. It wasn’t
until this summer that I learned
from therapists at my summer
internship that I had created a
system of physiological and psy-
chological coping mechanisms
for stress and anxiety with vap-
ing.
As I sat in the dimly-lit ther-
apist’s office, it all clicked:
a major part of my endless
addiction to vaping had been a
response to the immense stress
and emphasis on conventional
success by my family and envi-
ronment. From the very begin-
ning, since the creation of my
feedback loop, I had always
viewed my vape as a coping
mechanism for the copious
amounts of stress I was under
and as a small reward for my
developing brain when it lacked
external affirmation from the
people around me. It delivered
pleasurable neurotransmitters
to my brain when the things and
people in my life that were sup-
posed to give me real happiness
didn’t.
In the age of “quiet quit-
ting,” inflation, hustle culture
and rising student loans, it is
no wonder Gen Z uses nicotine
to cope with the overwhelming
pressures of life. The looming
pressure of entering into a pro-
fessional world with very little
to offer young people, and all
the necessary steps to take in
your childhood and adolescent
years to ensure conventional
success measured by wealth,
certainly call for unhealthy
coping mechanisms as well.
For what seemed like forever, I
fought the urge to rely on this
addiction once more for the
sake of productivity. Five years,
121 Juul pods and 45 disposable
vapes later, I am just now start-
ing to understand why I adored
vaping. As long as these stress-
ors are still present, I will not
be able to escape that itching
desire to stop by 7-Eleven and
pick up a brand new vape.
MiC Columnist Zoe Zhang can
be reached at zoezhang@umich.
edu.
Five years, 121 juul pods, and 45 disposable vapes
ZOE ZHANG/MiC
This is why you will have to lie
on the bathroom floor a while
after peeling
away layers of your skin and
finding only more skin underneath.
Or maybe it’s after you realize
that whatever name your father
called you,
he now asks where (baby, sweet-
heart, honey, princess) has gone.
I can’t remember which comes
first but just know
the stepdad and the mailman
and the soccer coach won’t look at
you
that way once you start shaving
your legs and oh god,
sweetie please don’t cut your
hair that short
because mine
won’t stop coming out in clumps
in the shower.
I don’t want to die, but I’m enjoy-
ing the process of rotting,
and my pee is coming out acidic,
but I’m sick
of drinking water every morn-
ing. This is a bummer,
I know — knowing that you will
still
be scratchable and fuckable
when you were supposed
to become the smoke from a
snuffed-out candle.
I was named the youngest per-
son to go senile today.
I think it’s because there’s some-
one
in your window, and he followed
you
to mine, but it might be because
I want to be a kitchen appliance
for Halloween, but not an oven
or a microwave. I know I’ll be
spooky
because blood is sticking my
knees together
from a sink I can’t seem to plug.
When it starts getting hard for
you
to get out of bed, I’ll know it’s
time to tell you
that he’s peeking through the
crack
in your closet and tomorrow he’ll
be
on the rug hugging your stuffed
bear.
You will dry his feet with your
hair,
hoping not to end up Mary or
Madonna, but something holy
nonetheless.
This is how you enjoy your youth.
This is when you will squeeze
your legs shut
so someone else can pry
them open. This is how you will
sing
yourself to sleep at night.
This is why you will stare at the
smudge
on the wall.
This is how you will chastise
yourself.
This is how you will know you’re
ovulating
without an app.
This is why you will speak in
nouns
and not verbs.
This is why all you will ever be
found
is wanting.
MiC Columnist Claire Gallagher
can be reached at gclaire@umich.
edu.
You can’t figure out how to enjoy your youth
CLAIRE GALLAGHER/MiC
ZOE ZHANG
MiC Columnist
CLAIRE GALLAGHER
MiC Columnist