Well, I always knew that it was going to happen eventually. Today became that day. After yet another bitching session at work, I grabbed my cigarettes and walked out the door. I doubt I will ever walk through those doors again.
That answers the question though. It turns out that I can be treated like a doormat for about twelve years before I have had enough. Or, to be more precise, I can be treated like a doormat for about three months without using alcohol as an escape. Now I know.
Time to start looking for another job.