The Aftermath Part 2
Content Warning: Suicidal Ideation and Domestic Abuse
To read The Aftermath Pt. 1, click here.
All that glitters isn’t gold.
I can’t remember if it was a phone call or a message from my mother, but in someway she got in touch to tell me that she believed Him was trolling me. He messaged her saying I was suicidal on a balcony over looking the Las Vegas strip. Him wasn’t trolling me. The combination of alcohol, Xanax, and Mac repeatedly telling me to FUCK OFF nearly pushed me over the edge (no pun intended). I’m not sure why I reached out to Him. I guess somewhere in my drunken stupor, I wanted to believe he cared, or perhaps I wanted him to know that he was partly responsible. After all, if we had been happy, I wouldn’t have been in Las Vegas trying to fill my Lori-shaped hole with a mis-sized Mac-shape. It’s true, dear Reader, that it was my choice to walk through that door, but Him opened it and Mac’s promises ushered me inside. Had I ended my life that night, it would have been my choice, but I wouldn’t have gotten there on my own. Nobody ever does.
I didn’t realize I was suicidal until I was suicidal. Just six hours prior, Mac decided that I would reject the offer from the Ningbo school, remain in Vegas, and get my real estate license. We would finish out the lease on his condo and buy a house by January. I’m glad he made the decision because I couldn’t. I was exhausted from having to adult by myself every goddamn minute of every goddamn day. I wanted a partner to share the burden. Instead, I kept picking boys dressed up in men-sized suits, but Mac was a man’s man. He pulled himself out of our shitty Brooklyn neighborhood with nothing more than grit and a high school education, surpassing most boys from our youth. On first glance, his matching Telsas, tricked out trucks, successful business, and season tickets to the Las Vegas Aces screamed “RESPONSIBLE ADULT,” and finally I thought I had found my forever person.
Before my arrival, Mac and I promised to give each other the space and freedom to be who we each are. His promises were as enticing and seductive to me as mine were to him. Mac really wanted someone to be “New York” with, and I got that. As someone constantly being told that I’m “too New York” myself, I longed for someone I could just be me around. Together, Mac and I could be ourselves - unapologetically - without judgement or horror, and if you believe that (like I did), I’ve got a Brooklyn Bridge to sell you. In reality, I had projected my understanding of what being “New York” was onto Mac, and he failed to consider all of what made me, well, me. Take drunk Lori, for instance, who is not only the life of the party, but also cheeky, loud, and unfiltered. So forgive me when I tell the bartender that I don’t want you smoking weed because when I take you home and have my way with you, I want you to “finish” the game. Oops. Did I say that out loud? Forgive me for not knowing that such a comment, spoken in jest to the most insignificant of nobodies, would paralyze your ability to eat their $19 bar steak ever again. Accept my apology for not having a crystal ball that told me exactly who you are and what you demanded from me. You made it painfully obvious that the zero expectations you had clearly went unmet.
As for Mac, I forgive him for not explaining what he meant by “being New York” with someone. To be fair, I didn’t ask for clarification. I assumed that he meant he could be aggressive, loud, and foul-mouthed (which he was…a lot) and didn’t realize that coercively controlling and explosively angry were part of his “New York” personality. Perhaps that’s why I was blindsided by the verbal assault of “FUCK OFF’s” and “FUCK YOU’s” screamed at me when we got home from the restaurant and throughout our week together. To Mac I would say I’m sorry for the visceral reaction I had to you grabbing my arm to stop me from politely inquiring where our food was. I’m sorry I told you to never grab me that way again. Given that it was just one month after Him physically assaulted me, leaving bruises on my arms and marks on my neck, I would have expected you to understand why I had such a strong reaction. I might have hoped that, despite both of us being angry, we could have acknowledged each other’s anger AND have given one another a kiss. I was angry, but I also loved you. I assumed that even though you were angry as well, you also loved me, but in just six short hours after you were so sure about me staying, I found myself on the outside ledge of your balcony. I guess it’s true what they say about ASS-U-M-E.
During our time together, I had managed to piss Mac off at every turn. I said the wrong things. I did the wrong things. I failed him by falling asleep when he demanded sex as a form of apology. I was also failing myself. I sat alone on those balconies and contemplated real estate school, failing to acknowledge how living his life would be a betrayal of my own. I didn’t want to live in America, and I certainly didn’t want an encore experience of Him in the form of a never-ending Mac attack. Still, I believed I could ignore self-betrayal and learn to be a better partner. I accepted there would be a learning period of getting to know who Mac and Lori are as adults, but as the days went on and the anger got increasingly explosive, I began to accept the bittersweetness of an ending to something that never really began.
The final straw for Mac came when I sent his ex-wife a message on Facebook to inquire about his anger. I mean, it wasn’t my first choice, but I KNEW her and she knew me. I wanted to offer her empathy because Mac was VERY “New York” around A, and she couldn’t handle it. I wanted to validate her by letting her know what I had learned - that being “New York” was nothing more than Mac’s code for being a verbally abusive asshole. Maybe messaging the ex was a rookie mistake, but I was out of options. Everything inside of me screamed, “LEAVE,” but as an expert in not trusting my intuition, I needed to overturn every last possible stone. Instead of seeing my message as an olive branch, A chose to forward it to Mac. I can’t say I blame her, or him for being angry. Like I said, despite my good intentions, I did everything wrong.
The final straw came for me when Mac responded to the message I sent his ex by “ticket ghosting” me for the concert we were supposed to go to on my last night in Vegas. “Ticket ghosting” is a term I made up that refers to when you buy someone a ticket to some event, then leave to go to said event without the person you bought the ticket for and without having the integrity to tell them that they were uninvited. In retrospect, the stonewalling and silent treatment should have been an indicator of how this was about to go down. I can tell you, dear Reader, that I didn’t expect to be left all alone without a word and without a way to get back in if I left for food or to see my other Vegas friends. I was locked in Mac’s condo like a dog locked in a car with the windows cracked. My outside freedom that evening was constrained to those damn balconies. I couldn’t take the power, control, and money being lorded over me by the last man I would ever expect this treatment from. To make matters more confusing, I had my mother telling me to go, while a trusted friend of both mine and Mac’s advising me to stay. Cursing my continued lack of a crystal ball, I packed my suitcase and reflected on something I read from Elizabeth Gilbert in her book Eat, Pray, Love - “The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving.”
They say you have a lot of time to think in prison. I can attest this fact to be true. Since I couldn’t leave, I stayed. I stayed and sat and starred at the floor, the walls, my computer. I sat and starred in silence and thought. I thought about how to make the impossible possible. I stayed and sat and starred and thought, and then, I remembered. I remembered the offer from Ningbo. After I remembered, I wondered. I wondered if the offer was still on the table. All that staying and sitting and starring and thinking and remembering and wondering gave me the answer to the questions of how do I leave and where do I go?
One way or another, I go back to China.
To be continued….
😥😘