I almost wrote about a lot of different things – family tragedies, ex-boyfriends, huge betrayals, lifelong struggles – but none of them felt true to the process because I do want to talk about those things again. There may have been a time when I didn’t, but things big enough to write down actually tend to be, for me, things that are too big not to talk about again and again, every time I feel/learn something new about them.

Luckily there are some things I never want to talk about again. Unfortunately I will probably be forced to talk about them again, but it’s not my wish. I never want to talk about Donald Trump again. I do not want to debate about whether to believe survivors when they come forward about their assaults. I never again want to explain to someone that their religion should have nothing to do with the choices I make with my body. I don’t want to beg a man in my life to no longer associate with a known rapist. I don’t want to explain the societal construct of gender or correct the history surrounding the creation of that binary.

I don’t ever want to argue with my boyfriend’s friends or my friends’ boyfriends about “how bad of a crime” rape is. I don’t want to lead men in my life, holding their hand and forgiving their every mistake, through learning about what it means to be anyone other than a straight cis white guy in this world. 

I don’t want to have to cry out of frustration for men in my life to listen to me. I never again want to roll my eyes at a stupid fucking joke or get harassed at a place where I previously felt safe. I never again want to comfort a man who hurt me, but is now struggling to deal with the semantics of being “accused of sexual assault.” 

I never again want to say “No, I’m not accusing you. I’m telling you it happened.”

I never again want to beg the men closest to me to believe me. I don’t ever want to say to a friend again that I believe them, that I am so sorry, that I am here, and that this world is simply heartbreaking sometimes.

I don’t want to have to explain to men that the reason they’ve never heard those stories is that no one trusts them enough to tell them. 

I never again want to explain that they, too, are in the hell of patriarchy and the cage of masculinity and the only way to get out is to listen and learn and change. I don’t want to keep begging the men in my life to read books by women. I don’t want to repeat the statistics of how many rapes get reported, tried, and convicted when someone’s fucking dad tells me he feels bad for all the accused men out there.

I never want to make a man feel better after he can’t make me cum and I’m tired of asking men a thousand questions about them before they ask one about me.

I never want to talk about the time, energy, and emotional labor that women put in on a daily basis for the men around us. I never want to talk about any outcome of workplace harassment other than “they were immediately fired.” Originally I gendered that line but I changed it because all people can harass and all people can get harassed (even though we know what the numbers say).

I never again want to be the crazy bitch feminist for saying how I feel / calling out some guy on their bullshit. I never want to say the word mansplain again and I never want to discuss the fucking Armie Hammer documentary that his victims did not consent to.

I truly believe I could fill this book with shit I never want to talk about again. Like I said, I probably definitely will have to talk about a lot of these things again, but it feels pretty good to say that I really don’t fucking want to. I wish someone else could do it for me, but I know if they did they’d be even more exhausted than they already are. So I will keep doing it for them, for my friends, for everyone who would also rather never talk about this again. 

I’m frustrated, annoyed, tired, pissed off, borderline murderous at times, but as much as I feel those things I also believe in people’s ability to grow and change if they are given the love, space, time, and education to do so. And I will try to give it to them because someone gave it to me. They still give it to me. And if nothing else softens me enough to talk about all those things again, then that fact does.