It has been a week since I sat on my couch watching election results come back on my television. While I sat there with my nausea rising and my brain slowly catching fire, all I could think was that my son’s pessimism was right.
My son had a bet with his girl that Trump would win. Not because he was a Trump supporter, not because he was a Clinton hater, no he thought Trump would win because he has a deep distrust of his fellow human beings and he felt like a Trump win was inevitable because, as he put it, “people fucking suck”.
As I sit here in my bed, with my stomach in knots and attempting to focus after waking up in the middle of the night from yet another sweaty Trump-fear fueled dream, I start to see his point. I don’t want to believe that people fucking suck. I don’t want to think that people are inherently shitty. I don’t want that to be what is in my head each night when I go to bed.
Between my fear, and my gross cold, I’ve spent several days of the last week just curled up into a ball and horrified by Trump and by my snotty kleenexes. There have been moments where I felt like the world was starting to make sense again. The amazing SNL episode with Chapelle and McKinnon popping me out of my ice cube tray of fear. The fuck you 2016 montage from John Oliver’s show just giving me joy.
I don’t want to be scared every night when I go to bed, and right now I am scared. I am scared for my son and his girl. I am scared for me. I am scared for my mom. I am scared for my neighbors. I am scared for my friends. I am scared for my family. I am scared. I just hope I can keep laughing as 2017 approaches.