Last night I started crying and just couldn't stop, because I realised how stupid I'd been about the me/Stephen/Bry triangle since Christmas. It was sparked off by talking to Bry last night, but I think it had been a while coming - I think that part of why I was content following the second-break-up-that-wasn't-really was because I would have time and space to sort out my feelings. My utterly stupid, chaotic, mixed-up feelings that were fueled by fear and abandonment and desperately trying to both protect my heart and seek comfort from the people I loved at the same time, which I couldn't do at the same time.
I stopped writing in Wordpad and then pasting into the LJ Update box at some point, because I'd moved onto stream-of-feelings type posts rather than carefully considered stuff. That was also the point I started being sloppy with what I revealed and how, and really started being a jerk. Everything I've written lately has had the context of being from the perspective of being hurting and bitter and scared and trying to make the best with transient feelings, and shouldn't have been taken to mean that that would be how I'd feel about a particular thing forever. They were my feelings at the time, and the explainations that I latched onto at the time for why I must be feeling that way. The events I described may have happened that way - but my perspective seriously skewed my accounts.
I was a lot more of a jerk about my emotions than other people in some ways - just as mixed up and confused and hurting, but not admitting it. Not being able to see past my insecurities or the fact that I'd been hurt and felt like I was being abandoned. Desperate to be Right in how I was feeling and acting, and then appealing to the dominant social narrative (really fucking stupid) when I couldn't make things work in my head. Bry was right - I should have tried to get over the hurt before making any decisions.
There's a lot more context to some of the anecdotes that I've been sharing. The making-out-in-my-bed one in particular - that was the point at which I started being stupid, and I think that I kept returning to it partly because I was trying to work out what I wasn't getting about the memory. I felt left out. I felt shut out... And then I closed myself away in the dark downstairs and waited for them to come down, just getting more and more upset and then lashing out in anger and hurt when I had a chance rather than just interrupting at the fucking time and talking all three of us together about it all.
I'm looking back and pinpointing where I went wrong. It hurts, but I think it's neccessary. I couldn't stop crying last night once I started this (probably scaring Alex quite a lot) - there's nothing like being feverish to burn away one's self-delusions and to let the tears flow.
TL;DR: I was stupid about this whole thing and didn't get a chance to correct my mistakes before more things had snowballed on top of them and buried them from my sight. My perspective on stuff got knocked skew by how upset I was/am, and my accounts of how things went should be taken as accurate wrt how I was feeling at the time of writing, but shouldn't be taken as an unbiased description of how things went.
Still TL;DR: I love them and hurt them too, so don't expect me to uphold the dominant monogamist narrative about this any more, because it's wrong and appealing to it doesn't make me right.