There is no such thing as life after death. My relationship with Mack is D.O.A. Finished. Done. Over.
But what happened? What about all the “oh, the tenderness is back, being with Mack makes me happy” bullshit? If you’ve read my posts from the time I started this blog, the writing has been on the wall since day one. I’m guessing you all saw it. I, in contrast, was blinded by the sex voodoo.
Look. Mack has good qualities. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him. I probably still am in love with him, but I don’t want to think about that. There is no way it would have worked out. It started off wrong. He lied about his relationship status. (A lie by omission is still a lie, Mack.) He pretended he was single when he was living with a woman, and had been for fifteen years. Then, after he moved in with me (sort of; a lot of his stuff was still at his ex’s), he went back there every time we had a fight. He went back there every day, purportedly to work. What money he made, he gave to her because she had been supporting him for the past fifteen years, and so he owed her money. He is a writer and musician. He’s very talented on both counts. But writing without marketing isn’t going to get you very far. Well, if having an income to pay your bills is a goal. And with Mack, it wasn’t. He let other people do that, and wasn’t ashamed of it. He’s an artist. He saw it as patronage. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s okay. I dont’ know. What I do know is that I work hard. I have to get up in the morning. And I resented being the only person in the relationship who was contributing financially. Watching him lay in bed asleep when I left for work in the morning pissed me off. Plain and simple. And it made me lose respect for him. When I tried to talk to him about it, he packed up the few things he’d moved in, and went back to his ex. It was so easy for him to do that, to pack up and leave, that I suspect he’d had that escape hatch in his mind all along, from the moment he moved in. It also made me suspect that he never truly was committed to me. To our relationship. To our future. He up and left. Thinking only of himself. And the fact that she took him back, after he left her for me, has me wondering what he told her about the whole thing.
Nevertheless, Mack wanted to continue with our relationship after he moved back in with his ex. He swore they weren’t sleeping together, despite the fact there was only one bed in the house. I suspect he slept beside her in the bed every night. Whether there was more, I’ll never know. Regardless, he was living with her again. And sneaking over here to see me at odd hours. Like when she went to visit her mother on Saturday afternoons. Or when he was supposed to be playing an open mic. He claimed they were living together as roommates, but clearly he was the only one in their relationship who thought so. Otherwise, there would not have been a need to sneak around and treat me like an other woman. And while the sex with us was still good (it always was), we argued nearly continuously. It was wearing me out. Also wearing me out was the self-recrimination. What kind of moron was I to be carrying on with this guy who cheated on his girlfriend of fifteen years, moved in with me (and I was to support him financially), moved out when I brought up money and back in with the ex, and then wanted to carry on a sexual relationship when he was back living with her again? Where had my self-respect gone? Did I really need sex so badly? Wouldn’t I be able to carry on living without it?
Yes, I can carry on living without sex. I haven’t seen Mack now in two and half weeks. Nor have I spoken to him on the phone. I blocked him on Facebook. I don’t want to read about his weekend yard work with his girlfriend/roommate, or their cute little exchanges about heart attack jokes, or their sweet Friday night dinners out. I don’t want to know what he’s doing. I want to move on. I want to forget. Which, as it turns out, is not an easy thing to do.
You see, I thought this was it. I thought Mack was the guy for me. I wanted to marry him and live happily ever after. I wanted him in my life. I wanted to let myself be in a relationship. One hundred percent. Full commitment. But it wasn’t to be. I couldn’t overlook the things I came to realize were not right with us. And I didn’t want to waste any more time and energy on a dead-end relationship. I do miss Mack. There’s a lot to miss. Especially on weekends like this, when I’m not busy with work. It’s better when I’m busy with work. I’ve also come to realize it’s a good thing he lives with someone. Otherwise he might show up at my doorstep, testing my resolve. And then we’d begin the whole process all over again. Great sex for a few weeks, sweet good times, followed by arguing and mental exhaustion. Followed by breaking it off, once again.
No, it’s better this way. It’s better to just end it and go through the pain now. Get it over with. So I can move on. Eventually there will be another man. There always is. Unquestionably. Whether I remain a bachelorette, however, remains a mystery.
But life after death is no mystery. At least when it comes to relationships, there’s no such thing.