Ok, I'm going to try to keep this as coherent as I can, but just a fair warning, I have a lot on my mind, and nothing I've done so far has helped. So once again, I come to you.
Let's start at the beginning.
Last week I saw a brand new doctor. Going to the doctor had become a strained and exhausting event for me once I left St. Louis, so I was both eager and terrified to see how this would go. To my delighted surprise, I liked her. She didn't shy away from my weight and subsequent related issues, but she also wasn't interested in lecturing at me like others have. She talked, she listened, she empathized. She was both blunt and caring at the same time. That's no easy feat, especially when you have a patient that looks like me. I've been overweight since I was 13 (although the kids in my elementary school would like to argue that I was fat WAY before that). Diabetes also just so happens to run in my family, and since I'm not an idiot or so out of touch with reality that I'd think voting for Trump was a good idea, I've been mentally preparing myself for the day that I doctor tells me that I've finally crossed the state line into a sugar-free zone. But, much like preparing for an loved one's passing after having a lengthy battle with ailment, you're never truly ready for that moment. And this is why last Wednesday and Thursday were so very frightening for me. My Doctor took blood, and told me not to be surprised if she diagnosed me as diabetic. Then she sent me on my way. It only took 24 hours for the results to come in, but trust, when you're waiting for news like that, you fill every second of every minute. Then I got an email from her through some online portal that I've only ever used once, which naturally meant I couldn't remember the password, which led to me be locked out of the site for 30 extra minutes after 3 failed attempts at logging in. So I sat, and waited, and waited, and waited some more. Finally when I was in, I was able to read that, while I am not yet diabetic, my A1c is level is 5.8. This means that I am high risk, prediabetic, and that I have to get shit together right now. I feel like this is going to be the final turning point for my weight, but I know that this is going to be a long and hard road that will last me the rest of my life. I am not optimistic, but then again, when have I ever been.
Now, let's jump ahead to this week. This unending, unyielding, and horrific week.
After some very upending work drama which led to weekend chocked full of high anxiety about my future, and life in general, I walked into election Tuesday with a nervous hope that everything would soon be over. This election, which sought to break each and every one us down further than Negan did to Rick, was going to finally come to a close. There was nothing left but to wait. I left work, went to rehearsal, and kept my eyes glued to my phone every minute I was backstage. Everything seemed to be going as expected. This was going to end just as it had been calculated.
Then, all of a sudden, it didn't.
When the smoke cleared, Amerikkka was there to show the world who it truly was. Donald Trump had been elected president. I still haven't been able to catch my breath.
Ever since Tuesday night, countless thoughts have run through my mind. I've experienced every stage of grief. Well, every stage but acceptance. I'm not there yet, and I'm not sure I ever will be. But the main thought, the main emotion that has underlined all others is fear. Pure, unshakeable fear. I have no idea how to overcome this, or at least move past it. It's Friday now, and as I write this I'm continuously seeing posts about the racists actions that Trump supporters have been perpetrating since Tuesday night. I feel sick. There's a ball of lava sitting in my gut that won't dissipate. I refuse to leave the house with my gun.
Now this next part is important, and it's for you, White People.
I can't trust you.
Now I can already hear the "We're not all racists!" interjections that I would be sure to get if anyone actually read this. But let me explain why I can't trust you.
Obviously, not all white people are racist. I know that. Just about every black person in America knows that. And I am very close to many white people. They know I love them. They know I don't hold them accountable for the actions of others who share their lack of pigmentation. But try to understand this: Unless I know you personally, and I know that you didn't vote for Trump, then I can't trust you. I can't trust that you didn't have an issue with his racism, sexism, homophobia, and xenophobia when you made your mark next to his name on his balance. I can't trust that his comments about sexually assaulting women didn't bother you enough consider another option. I can't trust that you don't have some deep seeded prejudice against immigrants, women, and people of color. I can't trust that you didn't do this to us.
And I hate this feeling. I don't want to have to eyeball every pickup truck I see suspiciously, because there might be someone inside of it that doesn't want me in Trump's Amerikkka. I hate being afraid for my half white, half Mexican girlfriend because some asshole may see fit to step to her and scream about deportation or some other bullshit that would certainly get me sent to prison if I heard it. I hate having a heart attack when I see a police car pull up behind me since a cop killing a black man in Trump's Amerikkka wouldn't even be a blip on the radar. I hate that when I see people praying for Trump's success as our leader that I want to immediately destroy something. I hate wishing for an assassins bullet to end the threat. I hate all of this.
Somehow I have to find a way to keep going. To keep living my life as if it's just business as usual. But I don't know how to do that right now. And I'm not sure when I'll figure out. Hopefully, for my sake, it will be sometime soon.
#NotMyPresident
