Hi, my name is Craig and I’m a selfish loser.

It sounds like the opening line at a rehab meeting, doesn’t it? But it’s the cleaner version of what my ex-girlfriend Monica called me when she walked out.

“Craig, you are a pathetic, prideful, self-centered ass,” were her exact words. The worst thing is that she was right.

“Please don’t go. I can change,” I said, begging her to stay. “Give me one more chance. If I screw up, I'll even help you pack.”

“Craig, you really are clueless. Look around. I already moved all my stuff out, if you haven’t noticed. Besides, I’m sick and tired of hearing your sorry excuses. It’s the same old crap you’ve been using since last year, six months ago, last month, and tonight.

"I just don’t believe you anymore. It’s always 'me, me, me.' Whatever happened to us? The only reason I’m even here right now is because I have enough class to break up in person instead of over text.”

She stared at me. “Look at me, Craig. You just lost the best thing you will ever have.”

Then she spun around and walked to the door.

I made one more final plea. “Monica, please. I promise I can change.”

She never turned around as she stormed out the door.

Did I like Monica? No, I loved her. I had been too stupid to admit it, even to myself, until now. Monica was right. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She had a strange gift for helping me to be sensible and honest. I guess she grew tired of babysitting me.

Besides Monica being beautiful and having a great personality, each of my friends liked her. So, after she left, I did what every loser does. I got drunk—wildly drunk.

The next two weeks were a blur. Thank God my boss liked me, and I was good at my job. Otherwise, he would have fired me after the first week. He felt sorry for me, but like everyone else, he had his own problems to worry about.

Only one thing made me understand how bad losing Monica would be. It was the fact that all of my friends were her friends. They only put up with me for her sake. No one wanted to hang out with me or even stop for a drink after work anymore.

“I don’t need them,” I told myself.

I was at our usual bar alone for the countless night in a row. I was losing control over my life fast. If it wasn’t for my one good friend, who was also my running partner, I would have had no one.

“Craig, get your sorry ass up!” Dan yelled. He pounded on my apartment door at six in the morning.

I flung open the door. “You want to get me kicked out of this place? I’m up already,” I said, still wearing my boxers.

“Craig, you look like crap. Are you still drunk?” Dan asked. He pushed past me into the apartment. “Don’t even think you're leaving me all alone again this morning. Get your ass dressed. You have five minutes.”

Dan and I took it pretty easy the first two miles. Then he picked up the pace.

“Are you trying to kill me? Have you no respect for how sick I am?” I yelled, struggling to keep up with him.

“Hey, man, I didn’t pour those drinks down your throat last night. I was sober and in bed by ten with Diane.” He smiled. “I'll take her over a six-pack of Corona any day of the week.”

He laughed and picked up the pace again.

I stopped and puked. I half expected to see a kidney or lung lying on the ground. I wiped my face with my handkerchief before throwing it on the pile of slop on the ground.

I never caught up to Dan. He waited for me at my apartment, sipping on a bottle of water while I finished.

“Maybe tonight, you'll go a little easier on the sauce.” He handed me what was left of his water. “I expect you to be up waiting for me tomorrow morning,” he said, sliding into his car.

I dumped what little was left in the water bottle over my head and shook off the rest. I skipped breakfast. A cup of black coffee was all I had until I ate a bowl of mac and cheese at lunch. It was all I dared to eat, since throwing up at your desk was frowned upon.

Instead of stopping after work for a few beers, I quit drinking for a while. It was time to mature and act my age.

I must have been stronger than I thought. I went an entire month with nothing stronger than cream soda. Dan still kicked my butt on our morning runs, but at least I kept up with him now.