talking over the good part

I’ve written about compliments before, dear reader. How the best of them are not meant to stroke your cock, but to explain something.

I believe this, dear reader—I do. But I also know it’s important to be careful what you hold on to.

My example was a real one; I was crying to my mom over a boy, saying, “he’s such a special person to me.”

My mom said simply, “Everyone’s a special person to you, Allison. That’s just who you are.”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment–just meant. It was true, and I’ve never forgotten it.

Everyone is a special person to me. Okay, fine. But I’m not in love with everyone. C’mon. What I am, however, is extraordinarily sensitive. After spending twenty-three years trying to stomp that out, I’ve instead decided to embrace it here with you–often in long winded eulogies for some aspect of myself I’ve had enough of.

The good news is, it doesn’t really matter that I ramble. I am gloriously irrelevant to most everyone, and because of this I’m able to talk freely about the things that scare me, including but not limited to my once pancaked butt, or my journey to dick sucking. I think I’d do this even if I weren’t irrelevant, but that is my own faulty earnestness.

Listening to someone explain who you are. Listening to them say they don’t care about the things you care about. Listening to them tell you all the reasons why the person you’ve chosen to be is wrong. That shit is like swallowing someone else’s vomit.

And I used to swallow it.

It’s important to remember, my dearest reader, that these words are not all you are. In all honesty, these words are none of who you are.

This hasn’t happened to me in a good while, dear reader–getting told who I am. I’d say I’m grateful, but I think I’m just smarter now. I know myself better–what I want and how I deserve to be treated. I dunno, really. I don’t take nearly the shit I used to–and no way is this exclusive to my interactions with others. I’m stronger than I used to be, you see. Generally.

Must be the tits.

I got into a fight, dear reader, with my male roommate a few weeks ago. He was saying my name a bunch–telling me that I, Allison, was wrong. He wasn’t really SAYING anything, though–do you know what I mean? He was working himself up and I was just standing there.

I think I’d be a fucking knockout at verbal arguments if I felt they were worth even an ounce of my energy, but alas. I know that most often they’re not–that if you ask the person attacking enough questions–calmly–they’ll figure out how silly they sound. So I just stood there, nodding.

What he said before slamming his door was, “I live with a child.” This, dear reader, lit me on fire. Not only had he acted in a way I’d describe as childish by inconsolably yelling nonsense, but I had refused to react.

What I did next, dear sweet reader, was knock on his door and say,

“Do not speak to me like that. You do not get to say who or what I am.”

And then he yelled some more.

This was all because I knocked on the bathroom door. How. Does this. Make sense.

Crazy shit, man. But honestly, it felt good to not bury it all. I used to bury so much, for so many of the men in my life. No more.

I used to dread telling my dad anything about my life–and though it’s endlessly better now, I haven’t forgotten this fear.

In 2019 I listened to hours and hours of music I wasn’t “allowed” to speak over–boy howdy, I will never forgive myself for that one.

I consoled a guy after he told me he cheated on me. True story.

I had a roommate who didn’t take care of his dogs–so instead I walked and cleaned their shit in the moments I had between work and school.

No more, dear reader. Not in a very long time.

Oh my GOD are there genuinely kind, beautiful men in the world. And no way is this a gender-exclusive issue. Everyone has the capacity to make others feel small. But those that don’t ask you to bury anything–who leave you room to speak–heaven.

Do not give time or energy to anyone–regardless of gender–who asks you to be silent. Wait for the people who encourage you to speak.

Please. This is so important.

I love you, dear reader.

So much.

Please please please take care of yourself.