Iman is Quietly Dehumanizing You :)

If you ever find yourself wondering where you stand with me, you don’t need to ask. You don’t need to guess. You certainly don’t need to send a “hey” at 11:47 p.m. like a man who just remembered his plant needs water.

You only need to read my writing.

My prose is a barometer of respect, emotional meteorology at its finest. When the forecast turns cloudy, you’ll see it in the syntax, the tone, the subtle choice to start referring to you as “someone” instead of “Matthew” (Matt Zeitoun catches yet another stray). I found myself explaining this at dinner tonight and realized i’d never really verbalized it. So, I’ve decided to do it now. Fine here, my guide to understanding becoming dehumanized by me.

Stage 1: The Thoughtful Doubt Era

“Should I continue interacting with you?”

This is the gentle stage. The compassionate stage. The stage where I still believe people can change.

Here, I’m writing think pieces full of emotional nuance, questioning compatibility like a philosopher who’s also mildly irritated.

Lines like:

• “Is this energy worth reciprocating?”

• “Is this man allergic to accountability or just confused?”

If you see yourself starring in one of these essays, the good news is: you’re still in the game. The bad news is: you’ve already done poorly enough to end up with a contemplative essay instead of a whimsical story.

Stage 2: The Symbolic Renaming Apocalypse

“Your name becomes A12 or §R7 because I can’t stand to type it.”

Once the irritation crystallizes into resentment, I can no longer bring myself to spell out your government name.

You become:

• 7HREE

• X-14

• §45

• or simply “???”

This is my way of saying: “I am still interacting with you for reasons I don’t fully understand, but trust me… I’m mad about it.”

If your name has morphed into algebra, it's not looking good for us.

Stage 3: The Misandry Renaissance

“You are not named at all. But the men? They are the problem.”

This is when I stop talking about you and start talking about men as a species.

I am no longer documenting our dynamic; I am documenting the decline of the male gender as evidenced through your behavior.

You’ll read a scathing paragraph about:

• emotional incompetence

• Overconfidence and underperformance

• Or whatever I can assign to you in a hate post

I am, but a simple diss track writer.

Stage 4: The Retrospective Tragedy

“You are now classified as a mistake.”

Once we reach this stage, there is no name, no symbol, no symbol-for-the-symbol. You are a lesson, a plot device, a cautionary tale, an asterisk in my emotional résumé.

You are:

• “the mistake I needed to level up"

• “my personal Mercury in retrograde"

• "Why I no longer privy to bad behavior"

If you ever see yourself referenced only as a mistake, please understand: this is not an insult. This is a historical record. A documentation of events. A footnote in the encyclopedia of “Never Again.”

There's Only One Exception To These Rules

It exists if and only if you've filled me with enough anger and hatred to redact your name fully. To black it out. Then and only then can you look yourself in the mirror and say "I really am one hell of a man" because you know that you've made a misandrist fall in love. I have gone back and removed your name from my work by blacking it out because it is too much for me even in code. You have a captivating energy that fills me with enough fear to want to snuff you out of my reality. You are different from the rest. You are not like other guys.

If you want to know where you stand with me, don’t ask for clarity, just look for yourself in my writing.

Are you a question? A symbol? A scathing subtext? A lesson in human regression?

Either way, the pen always tells the truth.