Chapter 94: Zombie Apocalypse

 I DID IT!!

I did it. I finally fucking did it. 

I blocked the love of my life. 

And exited the bedroom, and simply went back to watching giggly YouTube videos of  human ridiculousness with my offspring. It was a bittersweet combination of triumph and sadness. In the back of my mind lurks swirling thoughts… did I do the right thing? Maybe I should unblock him. Maybe it would have worked. I absolutely must not go down that overused road that has rekindled many a relationship that should have died the deadliest of dead deaths, What if something happened to him? I hope he’s okay. Maybe I should text just to see if he’s okay.  As if the person on the other end of that message is going to say Oh, honey! I was only mostly dead but now that you texted me, I’m going to live!! Let’s get married … and you see how ridiculous it really is? No, you don’t need to save your ex, please stop trying. He’s fine.

I do exactly none of these things. I finally have a headstone and epitaph on this relationship: Here Lies Monica and Jack. If She Had Stayed, She’d Be On Crack…or something else ending in ack. What I know for sure is while I was with Jackdude, I drank enough alcohol to pickle a platoon, which is not going to help me achieve anything other than slurred speech and a desperate breakfast of Coke and Egg McMuffins. I absolutely do NOT want to live out the rest of my days drunk and fearing saying the wrong thing will cause my significant other to abruptly vanish. It was bad, and it needed to expire.

It is difficult to articulate the magnitude of the boost in self empowerment, self confidence, and self esteem I gained the moment I hit that little red BLOCK button on my phone, but it was palpable and lasting. It was like a formerly 300 pound dieter wizzing their cart right past all the garbage food aisles, or an alcoholic pitching all their hard-earned drink chips into the trash. It was a shopping junkie waltzing right past Neiman Marcus without so much as a glance at their fabulous shoe collection, or a gambling addict turning down Caesar’s Palace’s kindly offer of a frequent flier free room. It was a sex addict cuddling up alone in bed with a good book instead of a partner (no lube required!), or a crackhead proudly marching past their old haunts, smiling broadly with beautiful, sparkling white new teeth. 

And yet, there is something I don’t want you to miss. You know the last paragraph, the one where you think I’m going back to him because I’m still so in love? I think it’s important to point out that ALL of those things are things I deeply felt. I WAS crazy in love with him. I did believe he was my soulmate. It was one of the hardest things I ever did, that single touch on the glass of my phone indicating I was cutting off my only link to him, for good. And I knew from previous experience that he was absolutely not going to show up at my house or hunt me down. My final action was the stake in the heart, a silver bullet, the double-tap to ensure that the zombie stayed dead this time, and didn’t come lurking around the corner to jump-scare me any more. 

I did receive a text message about a year later that I’m almost positive was him, checking from someone else’s phone to see if he really indeed had been blocked. It was from a random number, but the greeting was all too familiar. After I said who is this?  the mystery shopper on the other end simply said … Wally. Yeah, I don’t know a Wally. And once I stated this, the other end went silent. Which I suppose is perfect, and somehow suited the demise of the relationship. Vanished again, poof into the ether, and just like that, I went on with my day. 

When I finally cut off Jackdude, something new was cemented in place within me. Each day that went by after the Big Chop, I became prouder of myself. I had passed the test. Turning away the thing I thought I wanted most when it was staring me right in the face gave me a strength I never knew I had. 

But you know what’s weird? 

As my fascination with simply living my own life grew, so did the list of Dudes that popped their heads out of the woodwork, a virtual Whack-A-Male of Dudes gone by. 

Was just thinking about you. 

Remember that time when we… 

Hi

Hey! 

Hello

… the text messages from old fading memories pop up, dust bunnies under a once inhabited bed. At this point, they just remind  me of  how much I have changed. Some are a novelty. For some reason, Kinkdude keeps messaging about once a month. For a while, I toyed with this, curious about why on earth a guy would bother texting someone so regularly when they clearly have no intention of getting together. Eventually, when I would receive his random text hi stranger! I’d go into NInja mode and instantly say, Hi! When do you want to meet? which abruptly ended the conversation every time. It makes me wonder how much time would be saved if we just would do this in dating. It would render most compulsive texters paralyzed, and catfishing impossible. 

But such is the life of me being single and having dated all the Dudes. Even Youngdude comes back for a second chance. I think he contacted me because he was frustrated with his current appropriately aged relationship… I counseled him through, elder that I am, and encouraged him to stay with her. I think they are married now. 

The Dude parade continues, but I have left the party. I have a few streamers, plastic Oriental Trading Company beads, and stale candy left over, but I’m no longer present and available. 

I’m just a spectator now. I just watch everyone else in the shitshow, but I left the shit, and the show, behind. I still go out, but my interest in meeting a significant other is nonexistent. It’s wayyy more fun now that I’m not looking, now that I’m being balls-out Monica, no apologies and no changes just because some guy happens to want some certain stupid whatever. I finally enjoy being in my own skin, and am living out loud, louder, loudest, you better plug your ears. And, as I settle into being me and trusting my own judgment, now when I see that cute guy at the bar, my mind goes straight to you have no idea what issues are going on over there, what kind of hot mess is hiding under that pretty veneer. And I go on having a blast with my friends. 

And, I quite honestly am too busy writing my book, building my business, and rocking everyone’s face off with the best music I can create to even think about Dudes anymore. I am living my best life and wake up every day with my favorite person in bed. 

Me. 

I am my own best friend and counselor now, and when I look in the mirror, reflected is a changed woman. I am content by myself. I had never realized in all of the years I searched for that perfect partner, that it would turn out to be me. 

I remember when Whitney Houston first belted out The Greatest Love of All. I was deep in the conservative church, and known mostly as Pastor DX’s wife. I heard the song and was deeply offended at its content. How self serving! How narcissistic! 

I know better now, and the truth is that loving yourself is something you have to do before you can really love anyone else. You have to come to terms with that person in the mirror, and if you are disappointed with that person, you change what you need to change until you admire and respect that person. In a world full of things we cannot control, we absolutely do have control over what we do with this precious body, soul, and spirit we have been given. And the more I build myself, improve myself, take on new challenges, and become the best me I possibly can, the better everything around me becomes. 

I order new things for my bedroom, lots of pink that represents me, and laugh that no Dude would ever allow his shared bedroom to look like this. I don’t care, of course. Dudes are no longer a part of my life plan. 

I redecorate the house for me. I buy clothes that I like. Sorry, Prepdude, no more alligator shirts. I far prefer the alligator stiletto boots.

I still miss Jackdude sometimes, but my life is so full it crowds thoughts of him away. I’m crowding the zombies out with love, with wanting to do something more significant with my life than finding some Dude to “complete” me. Fuck that. I AM complete. 

The best relationships I have observed are when two complete individuals meet and fall in love, and stay complete people, with their own lives and interests. Healthy relationships aren’t very Hollywood, they are real, and mutual, and dependent on two strong individuals, not a forlorn Scarlett O’Hara calling on her dear Rhett to fix her half-baked shell of a personality. Now that I have no need for external completion, having finished this DIY project myself, the scales have fallen away from my eyes (that one’s for the Bible geeks out there) and I can see around me the extreme codependency, the desperation, the people, men and women, seeking a wheelbarrow they can climb in so they can avoid finding themselves. 

And now my heart aches for those caught in the trap, having their lives pushed around while time ticks by, each moment irretrievable. I want to help them, 

And I have come to a realization. 

 I need to text my coach.