White people: 9/11 was done to us. We did 11/9 to ourselves.

My black LGBTQ friends told me Trump was coming 11/9, but it was too horrifying to believe. I could not accept white supremacy would win. I knew the risks of the first election without Voter Protection in place. Still, I thought patriarchy would finally get its comeuppance and we’d collectively condemn homophobia and racism as anti-humanitarian, like medicinal leeches. I thought we’d talk about how to address poverty instead of new ways to regulate my uterus. I knew it’d take a while, but I thought we were on track to embrace humanity. I have never been so wrong.

I obsessively followed the 2016 presidential election. The day of reckoning arrived and I find myself ill-equipped to deal with the result. I’m a hot mess. I mourn the election of a bigoted xenophobic misogynist bully. I’m downright apoplectic the most qualified person in history lost so decisively. The election of this vile baby-man has brought out the absolute worst in me. I feel petty and dirty. I cannot bring myself to say or write his name as our leader. I’m not a religious person, so I’m not praying for anything to get better. I feel no sunshine. Right now, I wallow in freakish misery. I am deeply disturbed and depressed. I am bereft.


It is futile to look up, kitties.

I am also genuinely afraid for my black and brown friends continuing to be targeted, deported and incarcerated. I fear marriage equality will be assaulted, as the Republican party endorsed the most anti-LGBTQ platform in history. I worry about the rights of all women to control our bodies. As a grateful recipient of Obamacare when diagnosed with cancer, I fear not having access to healthcare. I am deeply concerned about freedom of the press.

Friends and folks who voted for Trump: I do not understand you. I cannot relate to you. I don’t know how long it will take me to get over this betrayal. I feel it so personally, on such a visceral level. Your economic self-interest and fanaticism to maintain the status quo is profoundly hurtful. Your delusional claim Trump represents a better future is obscene. You have wounded me, my family, my children, my special needs son, my friends, my LGBTQ friends, our nation and our humanity.


This isn’t helping but I wish it would

You don’t agree with the Democrat’s vision, fine, but what have you done to us? How can you hand over the environment to the man who refuses to listen to science about global warming and vowed to dismantle the E.P.A.? A man so blatantly racist that he continually denounces the Central Park Five when their innocence has been so resoundingly proven? A man who wants to reconstitute “stop-and-frisk”? Your man made fun of physically disabled people to a huge crowd of cheering fans. He jeopardized access to mental health and called soldiers who suffer from PTSD weak.


There cannot be enough kittens

Soon, I will start making donations to Planned Parenthood. I will pick myself up and dust off my tits, which are apparently ripe for the grabbing. There will come a time when I’ve inhaled enough kitten pictures, listened to a sufficient number of Jon Stewart Daily Show re-runs to soothe me to sleep, committed everything Full Frontal’s Samantha Bee says to memory. I will have listened to enough Beyonce, Nine Inch Nails and Kendrick Lamar to nurture my soul. I’ll have watched a critical mass of Jessica Jones episodes and snorted enough Margaret Cho stand-up shows.

I vary my media, but I vow to watch more Fox News because that is apparently the America in which I clearly live. It’ll be that daily shot that leaves a whelp on my skin, but I need to know what the score is. I will hope he uses his unbridled power for good instead of evil. I will not call him a whore, even if he calls me one. I will try to give him the benefit of any doubt he affords to no one. I will respect the office, but I will never respect him in it. I will try not to cry thinking of Secretary of State Roger Ailes, Attorney General Ann Coulter, Supreme Court Justice Sarah Palin or Secretary of Defense Rush Limbaugh.


Full Frontal’s Samantha Bee: Fucking badass

A friend aptly said, “After I climb out of this morose stupor, I am ready for the revolution.” True that, mother fuckers.