It’s just a word. The wrong word it turns out. Especially painful when taken out of context.
I apologised to Y and Z. It was such a surreal experience. Telling the truth felt so uncomfortable, so… unnatural for me. I started getting a bit heady, and got worse from there.
Let’s call the one I was obsessed with Y and the other one Z.
During the conversation, I was asked a good few questions, and they threw me a few statements, presumably to check I’d thought about things. One of those was Y saying about a conversation I’d had with him about what I’d been doing with Z. In this I’d told him about what I’d done (after lying to him profusely), and he wanted to know why I’d done the things I had with Z. I described it as “some sort of sick, twisted revenge” at the time.
Fast forward to situation uncomfortable, Y drags this golden nugget out for it to be marvelled upon by Z and the mediator. He neglects to mention that I acknowledged at the time how messed up it was. Z reacts like he’s just been punched. I don’t blame him. I know he had feelings for me.
Revenge may have been the wrong word, but i had no comprehension of why I’d done what I’d done at the time. Don’t think it’s entirely clear to me now, but I’ll have a go.
I tried things on initially to see if I could, to try to prove to myself i could do it, that I still had it. Then came the push backs from Y. Each push back made me doubt myself, so I sought to prove myself again and again. Why Z? He was unavailable on so many levels. He has a girlfriend. One of my friends kept telling me she was in love with him, and I kept promising I’d keep my hands off. Y kept suggesting that myself and Z would make a great couple, I kept insisting that i didn’t like Z like that, which was true. He was an act of rebellion, I guess. Rebelled against what should happen, against my morals, against my words, against my own feelings. I rebelled against myself.
Fucked up, right?