I Know About The Ugly
Tuesday night, election night, I went to bed before the final votes came in. Wednesday morning my Twitter feed gave me the news. I was stunned.
And I was angry.
On my way to work a friend called me in tears. Her young children are worried about their Muslim friends at school. White kids younger than 14 are scared and worried about their friends. Grrrr.
At work I listened to music by Trapt, 30 Seconds to Mars, Linkin Park, Evanescence. Angry music. It soothed me.
My son travels for work and is often unreachable by phone. I had a short, sweet conversation with him and I heard the sadness and worry in his voice. Sadness for himself, for his friends and for the gay community.
Mama-bear turned up the music.
I stayed off social media although I did see some posts telling me to not feel angry or sad or pissed off. No time for that, they said.
Bullshit. Anger is fuel. Sadness creates space. Fear is a teacher. If a true feeling is not honored and expressed it turns ugly.
I know about the ugly. I lived it.
I was married to a “Donald” for 25 years. He got me young so I didn’t believe him when he showed me who he was the first time. I didn’t get it. I didn’t know men like this existed and I got played. The guy learned my language and told me what I wanted to hear until he got what he wanted.
I will be in recovery for years. Probably for the rest of my life.
Trump voters have been played. For 30 years in film and print he has shown who he is. Arrogant, misogynistic, racist, sexist, a bully, narcissistic, fear mongering.
An entitled, elitist white male. One of the last of his breed, thank God.
He told Americans what they wanted to hear. Now he has what he wants. The country and the world get to watch him under a microscope for four years. He’s not going to like it.
Four years is a long time for Trump. The spotlight will give him no place to hide which will force him deeper into madness. God help us.
By last night I was anxious and emotionally exhausted, but not angry anymore. When I got home I made a cup of tea and flipped on the tv. As I walked to the sofa I saw a brief clip of Hillary’s concession speech followed by Donald accepting the nomination for president.
A wave of sadness took me down. I crumpled into the nearest chair, grabbed the tv remote, pushed “mute” all at once. I cried until the tears stopped and my tea was cold.
I wept for my children who have “Donald” for a dad and were forced to face adult issues far too young…
….for my son and his friends who don’t feel safe,
….for my Black and Brown friends that always pick up the phone
….for my beautiful women friends and confidantes
….for the children who worry about classmates
….for women everywhere who are bullied, oppressed, and scared
….for Hillary’s graceful acceptance of defeat
….for my audacity of hope, which is not going anywhere.
Unfriend if you must, delete if you like. I won’t argue. This is not about policy, it is about permission. The right to be human in America. The land that I love. My home sweet home.
This is not the best we can be. Not by a long shot.
Seriously.
