Anytime the ex-Virgo got sick, he would invariably say he had Sephiroth in his blood cells, so he'd be fine. For those of you not in the know because either you're not a gamer or you didn't spend three years of your life committed to somebody who claims to have been raised by video games, Sephiroth is the main antagonist of Final Fantasy VII. He's a soldier of unparalleled strength who isn't just strong but sadistic - like, the sadistickest - and evil - like, the evilest. And as much as I hate to say it, as much as I hate to think it about somebody who has been so monumental in my life, somebody I loved love so much, the notion that he resides in, or somehow controls, the ex-Virgo's blood cells doesn't sound wrong.
Or maybe not. Maybe the ex-Virgo's not, as a good friend of mine put it after reading these recent blogs, "pretty devious," taking the fact that he'd never had a serious girlfriend before and using it as an excuse for not respecting boundaries and "playing it up as a form of manipulation."
Maybe, despite the fact that my son, who through this entire ordeal has always insisted that he doesn't dislike the ex-Virgo but just thinks he's done some bad things to me, messaged me on Tuesday afternoon saying, "Jonathan has proven to be nothing more than a piece of shit, honestly," and then later when we talked said he thinks of him as a scumbag now, he isn't.
Maybe, even though my best friend, who this entire time has listened to me go on and on about the ex-Virgo and never had one bad thing to say, responded, "What a little weasel," when I sent him the screenshot of me asking the ex-Virgo if he was Carla's boyfriend, he's not that.
Maybe he's just, as he - the -ex-Virgo, himself - has said to me, scared. Surely, he's scared of conflict, having been raised by a lunatic mom who it was just easier to agree with or lie to than to be up front with. It's become very clear to me as I've written these recent blogs, looked over our old texts, and thought about our past, that his lies come from his being scared, a scared, puerile little boy too immature to face the consequences of his actions, to take ownership of the things that he did. Like, dude forgot to look for milk at Walgreens? Just fucking say that. Booked a reservation for a hotel on the wrong day? Bruv, put on your big boy pants and own your mistakes.
Or maybe right this second, I'm just feeling particularly sad thinking about so strongly, so fervently disliking someone I loved love so much, that I'm making the same excuses I've made for him and his behavior for the last three years starting even before we were an official couple and he was still updating his Bumble profile and logging on despite the fact that we'd been seeing each other for almost two months, having sex, and he'd left a toothbrush at my house.
But there's no maybe in this case: Although he was helping me with things I really needed help with for the first few weeks of summer after we broke up, the fact that he was coming over and not just helping me but also sleeping with me in bed, snuggling up to my naked body, running errands with me while holding my hand, having sex with me as late as the second week of July when he either was already with Carla or was clearly thinking about being with her - but let's be real; whether he was with her or not, he was thinking about being with her even way before we broke up - isn't in any way all right.
There's also no maybe here: His having lied to me for the past however many months about having a girlfriend, and I say "however many months" because while he said he and Carla started talking again in mid-July, and she became his girlfriend in early August, it's obvious I can't believe a word that comes out of his mouth, first through omission and then blatantly because, according to him, he was afraid I'd stop talking to him was inarguably selfish and cruel.
Even if everything the ex-Virgo told me was true, even if he did love me, even if he did miss me, even if there had been a chance of us getting back together one day in the future after we both worked on ourselves and lived our lives, and I'd like to be clear that I think that it was (but, again, after poring over the past, I'm so overwhelmed by the things I didn't see - like, for instance, how it seems that anytime he Okay Kellyed me, he for sure had lied - that despite thinking I knew him, I don't know what to think), for him to lock me in the land of limbo in which I languished because he didn't want me to stop talking to him was so horrible, so unfair, so just downright mean.
And that, more than any of this, more than the lies, more than not wanting to work on a relationship he'd committed to thus rejecting me and making me question my worth, more than dating Carla so quickly after we broke up and very clearly cheating with her before (although not worse by much more), is the worst part of all this.
My ex-Virgo robbed me.
He robbed me of two months when I could have begun to heal, when I could have begun moving on (because I'll tell you, I went from crying every single day since the beginning of June to not having cried once since the morning after I found out), but by far, worst of all, he robbed me of the memory I'd had of us and of him (and now I'm back to crying).
He robbed me of the memory of the beginning when I felt like this:
So I'll say it again. No more. I try to be blasé, but I can't. I'm just not a blasé human being. I'm excitable. I'm excitable by nature, and from here on out, that's what I'll allow myself to be: the excitable person the universe made me. I'll be excited about things even when there's no evidence that these things should excite me. If something makes me happy, the way something just happens to be making me happy right now, a feeling I've been trying so hard to fight in an effort to be realistic and responsible, I'm going to let it.
I'm going to let myself smile my stupid smile and get that happy excited feeling I get in the pit of my stomach, that visceral feeling that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with my perception of the way things are.
He robbed me of the memory of realizing this:
I'm home. That may not make sense to you, but that's what my Virgo is.
He's home.
He robbed me of the memory of being thankful for him:
2. My Virgo. I know what you're thinking. I swear, I know. Of course Kismet's going to talk about a boy, and yes, of course I am, but I'm not talking about a boy because it's my MO, I'm talking about a boy because I couldn't possibly make a list of the things I'm thankful for this year without mentioning him. He is by far what I'm most thankful for, today on Thanksgiving, yes, but also every single day that's not.
He took the last three years, three years that even after we ended, I still looked back at with love and appreciation, and he made me question everything about that time.
He also robbed me of even having him as a friend, creating a world where we can no longer coexist; a world where we went from hand-holding otters on our bed in the sea of our room, to what? Enemies? People who think of each other with contempt (because I can't imagine after seeing these blogs, he sees me with anything else)?
He turned me into someone sitting here blogging unforgivable things, someone who's not going to pretend to be the bigger person, someone who hopes he breaks Carla's fat, virgin heart.
And even worse than the worst of all, he turned me into someone who, despite all the gaslighting, despite all the manipulation, despite all the lies, thinks about this text her ex-Virgo sent her after she kicked him out in March
and that despite everything, it's still him.
(But she's working on it.)
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