It’s been a troublesome month after I was let go of my job, it really wasn’t that I was let go because the company was bankrupt, after all I never really cared that much for them, it was the fact that, 5 years after graduating from college, I was finally free and didn’t even know what to do with this freedom.

While it was bad that I didn’t have a job and my world was crumbling down, I knew I could count on my best friend alcohol.

I’ve never considered myself an alcoholic, after all, all I drank was beer and that barely counts, or so I thought. To me, it doesn’t count if you’re not vomiting or you can’t drive after a night of binging. But now I learned that those aren’t the specific rules of alcoholism.

This past month I held a record of 10 beers minimum, with 2 packs of cigarettes per night, I was a pro yo!

But since I briefly stopped writing because my mind couldn’t concentrate on anything other than drinking, one faithful night I decided to stop this track record of awesomeness and returned to what life is suppose to be about: working out your dreams.

Of course, dreaming of drinking also counts, but if it don’t pay you it don’t count. You miserable life!

Anyway, the first night I decided I wasn’t going to drink was fine, ‘til it was 7PM and I was dying on my bladder to go out for some drinks. It was really hard passing by a 7 Eleven and not be able to buy some beers, and not call my friends and lie to them we should go out for some “Starbucks”.

This is how it usually goes: I say “let’s go to Starbucks! OMG! It’s so fun!” and 15 minutes into my Latte Grande I’m like “So, while this is totally fun OMG! Why can’t we just go to the bar two blocks down and drink a couple of beers?” 2 become 4, and before we know it we’re annoying the owners because we don’t want to leave yet we are obviously the best costumers so they don’t want to piss us off.

That Sunday was a sting on my anus, I couldn’t handle it anymore, it was like giving off my unborn child to poor people, or worse, my mom.

On Monday I had the Kylie Minogue concert, and luckily, I had half a beer and stopped myself from drinking more. I know what you’re thinking, “Oh you still drank!” but considering that for the past month I was drinking 10 beers minimum (and 10 beers just applied to a Monday or Tuesday specifically) half a beer was almost next to nothing, it was like buttah down my throat.

Then, on Tuesday, it hit me.

The awful process of detoxing, I fucking hate it, never saw it coming. At first, I thought God was punishing me for making fun of her on a continuous basis, I thought she was probably mad at me and decided to give me a headache, fever and a bloated stomach.

I felt like those kids from Africa who are always bitching and moaning that they’re hungry, yet they seem kinda chubby…

I was with a couple of friends who, luckily for me, didn’t mind that I took out my belt because my stomach was so bloated my pants couldn’t handle it anymore.

It was over, I realized that my body was probably getting the dreaded “alcohol withdrawal” I’ve been hearing about from bums and Celebrity Rehab.

I’ve been joking all these years that I should go to rehab and now I finally realized that it wasn’t such a good idea, sign me up with Lindsay to the Betty Ford Clinic!

Wednesday was awful, I was at my worst. I was still incredibly bloated, fever all day, my head, etc… All the bad things.

I knew that if I drank a beer it would all probably go away ASAP, but I realized it was an option I couldn’t take anymore, it was done, more than done.

I’ve spent years telling myself it was over, but like a prostitute trying to pay her daughter’s tuition, I refused to quit.

Now, I knew it was time, alcohol had prevented me from doing other things that I also wanted to do, alcohol denied me from so many things I wanted to do, just like laziness denies poor people into getting rich.

For a moment, my mind started to wonder that maybe it was a virus, but then, even though it had been 4 days since I had a respectable amount of alcohol and I was drinking water, my pee still smell of beer and cheap thrills.

And it just wasn’t one time, at first I smelled the toilet to see if I was wrong, but I had to come to my senses and realize that I didn’t have to do this, just the pee coming out reeked of beer.

And unfortunately, it wasn’t just the pee, my shit did stink, and it stank of beer too.

I was eating healthy at the time of course, so when I started seeing things that shouldn’t be there, I noticed that those things were probably from last week, all that stuff was stored in my stomach and couldn’t get out of there, my digestive system was like a sewer, it probably resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger’s baby momma before he impregnated her.

That day, I wanted propofol or salvia to pass the day, but that wasn’t an option. So yeah, I guess I didn’t have the money to spend on a decent rehabilitation center, but I had my room, my computer and my bitter nature to survive.

I finally went to a doctor, or at least that’s what I think it happened. My mom had called a doctor friend and urged me to go, so here I was expecting a clinic or something, after all, I do have an insurance, but of course I wasn’t going to mention my history with alcohol dependence.

So we park at a house, the doctor is a woman no older than 35, feeding her child. What kind of doctor is this? Why is she feeding her child in front of me and why is my mom present at this? Soon I realized that while I have my dependence with alcohol, my mom has a dependence with not spending money on a real consultation.

Turns out this wonderful doctor just said that it was probably a virus, and like good alcoholics around the world, I was relieved that this wasn’t going to expose my life with addiction.

As soon as I told my friends I was alright they seemed relieved… That now I could go with them and continue drinking, but like I said, this part of my life is over.

It doesn’t matter that they tell me I’m not as fun anymore, at the end of the day, I know I can outdrink them any time, any place and under any circumstance, and that’s victory enough for me.

Besides, this allows me to continue writing and focus on the important things I want to do.

Over.