What Donald Trump Has Done To Me: On Cyberbullying, My Sanity, Stress Level, and What It’s Like Living Blue in a Batshit Red State

I just can’t write enough about what social media has been like for me over the last few years. I mean, imagine something you’ve always been good at. Something that has been your hobby.  Your interest. Something that you’ve spent time studying since you were a little girl on Brown Avenue  — which is to say as long as you can remember. 

And then imagine being attacked for it.

Sports is often the way that people bond with their fathers, their grandfathers — or their great-uncle.  And for me, it was no different. It — sports — is often the way they carry their loved one on long after they’re gone.  Back when I was still writing lyrics, I wrote verses for my own country “song” about how when I saw that bat swing on the corner of the TV, it lifted up my spirit and restored my faith. And calmed a  longing that, for a long time, seemed to only be calmed by alcohol. It was a way to connect to my “father” (my Uncle Chunky) long after he he had left this Earth.

Or as I wrote in a certain lyric:  “Bat swing, knock it out of the park, a little lifted up hope for this worn down heart.”

And while Tennessee football was always just uniquely me, that’s what Cardinal baseball is. It’s a way to feel like I’m still back in that little white house and safe and nothing can hurt me.

It’s the same with politics.

I don’t know if I love the government of the United States or Presidential history because my Uncle Chunky did, or if it’s just my own. I like to believe it’s the latter. I like to believe, like Bill Clinton, I was just born learning people’s life stories and fighting for those who can’t, for whatever reason, fight for themselves. I like to believe that public service is what I was born to do. That it was what I was created for.  But the truth is, there’s always been a little bit of my Uncle Chunky in that because he loved it too. 

It’s serious to me. It’s a commitment to the betterment of mankind, and it’s something that I take personal. And I love dearly. It’s my life story. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do and it doesn’t come from a place of hatred for black people like all these redneck come-lately Fox News watchers and their menthol smoking grannys that suddenly, miraculously, became “constitutional scholars” overnight. 

As in, over the night a black man took up residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Genuinely, it was something that nobody else I know was ever interested in until we elected a black man to the Oval Office. And suddenly, the same people who spent a lifetime wondering why I was such a political dork who got excited over state primaries;   who can still remember vividly clutching that box I purchased at The Smithsonian summer before 9th grade that read “We Want FDR Again!” and how excited I was to get back to Tennessee and give that to my Uncle Chunky; that girl that sat at the bar with her friend Jethro in college watching the Bill Clinton impeachment trial while everybody else was partying. These same “you’re weird” yelling friends have now spent years calling me names and telling me how brainwashed I am. And it’s taken a huge effect on me.  Not their insults, I’m stronger than that.  But their outrageous and unfounded involvement in the first place.

And it’s time that I fight back — which is exactly what I’ve been doing.

It’s not unique for somebody to come along and stalk, bully or intimidate a changemaker, or attack a white person that stands up to racism and attempt to bully them into silence. This is not something you invented. But my response from the stress that I suddenly feel is new to me. I’ve always had nerves of steel. I was a girl that you wanted in the war room with you. I’ve stood up to grown men. I’m not scared of jail.   I’ve never been afraid to jump in the middle of a fight, and I was the little sister that often did so while they continued to just swing over me, and things just don’t intimidate me.  Or, more importantly, get me so outraged. And I’m just not that way anymore. The stress has physically affected me.

I have to tell on myself about how bad my stress level is. I think….I just need prayer.  Maybe. 

I don’t know if it’s an underlying medical condition or if I’m seriously this stressed out over Donald Trump, but I had to start taking Prozac about a month ago and I’m still waiting for it to kick in. I hope you’re laughing at that because I am.  I know people think I’m so obsessed with Donald Trump, but this stuff just gets me so worked up that I can’t calm down. Even though I’ve always had — I guess you could say — “medical problems,”  I’ve been extremely blessed with great health. I could see a random doctor for a cold and he would comment on how great my sitting heart rate was. I always attributed that to the fact that I exercised.  I’ve always had great blood pressure.  With the exception of the fat doctor, I haven’t been to a medical doctor since 2002. But since I’m afflicted with Body Dysmorphic Disorder and seriously fear obesity more than I fear death, and have succumbed, at times, to
eating disorders — which you can read all about my tales of starvation and my struggle with alcoholism in my memoir when it comes out — I always saw Dr. Huffnagle on a regular basis. I haven’t seen him in months, but the last couple of visits over the last year or so, the nurse has commented on the fact that my always excellent blood pressure was high.  And when he, Dr H,  asked if there was anything stressing me out,  I said,   “Yes, it’s these gotdamn Republicans!”  Even though he’s a gotdamn Republican, they rolled with laughter at me because I don’t think anybody ever thinks I’m serious. (I hardly am.)  But, and I’m being serious here,  I don’t know if the years of diet pill use (which I no longer take), or the starving myself while still strenuously exercising (because I know that’s what does the most damage to people who suffer with eating disorders) during the periods of my life where I existed on 300 calories a day, locked myself in the house because I thought I was too fat to leave, and forced myself to run 5 miles a day,  have damaged my heart or if it’s simply psychosomatic.  I just know that I’m not the same and I truly need prayer.

Sometimes I think maybe my Memaw works my nerves (lol), or that it’s just my life.  But I stay dizzy, throwing up, and feeling like I’m going to pass out most days. I’ve started running again, but all it does is remind me of how weak I am — and it takes lying around all day to get the energy to even exercise.

But here’s the real problem. At the slightest bit of stress, my heart starts racing uncontrollably, the room starts spinning, I get sick at my stomach, feel like I’m going to throw up, get light headed, and I start seeing spots. I don’t know if that’s psychological, emotional,  or if my heart seriously just can’t handle stress anymore. It’s so bad I had to quit reading Facebook
News Feed two years ago. And now Donald Trump has drove me to think I need Prozac.

Seriously, I hope you’re laughing at that — because I am. Even I find it funny. And I find it funny because I’m dead serious. I have to medicate myself to tolerate Trump.

I stay so nervous and dizzy and lightheaded and ANGRY all the time.  Any kind of exercise leaves me short of breath and my nerves are constantly shot everytime I get on Facebook — even for a second.  I normally just post what I have to say and get off. Any time I attempt to read  Facebook public page, I get myself so worked up I can’t breathe. Now that makes me sound like an emotional basket case that needs therapy — and all of that is true.  But it’s just, as I’ve said many times, that my personal best is reading 147 books in eight months of the year, and I’ve been studying this stuff since I was a little girl and in the last few years…

I’ve been harassed. I’ve been trolled. I’ve been stalked. I’ve been targeted with bullying, anger, rage. I’ve been told I was going to burn in hell more times than I can remember.  I’ve seen the same people that used to love me, turn on me and tell me what an ignorant, mindless, brainwashed liberal I am — yes, by those who are snorting cocaine up their nose and drinking everything in sight. And, let’s be real here, political affiliations aside, I think we can all agree, whether you like me or not, there is one thing that you can say that’s true about me — I’ve thought for myself every damn day of my life.

Or, as I can still remember my Uncle Chunky saying:  “Hold your horses now, little missy. Don’t get too big for your britches. Just because thinking may not come as easy for some people as it does you, doesn’t mean there isn’t stuff that they can’t do better than you!”

He was usually talking about my brother. Ha!

And that’s what set me off today. I keep hearing these Trump supporters that are just repeating everything that some Sean Hannity sold them on Fox News — that have no idea how ridiculous they sound —  telling people like me that stay at home with our hard backs and our freaking cats, that we’re so “brainwashed” and blind. We’re “Obama bots” and dumbass “libtards.”  And I just can’t take it anymore.

I imagine when Peyton Manning was little and dreaming of playing quarterback, he held that football in the same regard similar to the way little political nerds like me sat around with their books dreaming of being in the Senate. The way all kids do.  We all have dreams, and this has always been mine. And I’ve watched as it has been ripped apart, and as our Congress as been hijacked — by people on both sides — that don’t have any interest in the public’s common good, and I’ve seen those extortionist that exploit the hate and the division for personal and financial gain who don’t give a damn about the best political course of this nation — and it breaks my heart.  I’ve watched these people, the same politically ignorant conspiracy theory mongers, who suddenly turned into “political experts” the second a black man got elected to the highest office, the same ones that are constantly telling me how wrong and stupid and mindless I am. You know, the  “Wake up, you sheeple!” screamers.

Blah, blah,  and fucking blah. 

When they can’t outwit me, they call me a midget;  cyberstalk me; tattle on me to Zuckerberg; have me blocked from Facebook.  They call me “godless” or close-minded. Yes, the same people that always told me I’ve never met a stranger suddenly accuse me of being ignorant, shallow and simple  minded because I stand up to white people.

Which, again, is odd that the only two things I’ve ever been in my life are:  1) a friend to everyone;  2) smart.

All it took was us getting a black president, and wow! Now I’m dumb, narrow minded, and a strenuously disliked bitch.

I just can’t take this dipshittery anymore. It’s up to epic political proportions — and politics has always been coated in manure — and I’m drowning in it.

Most days I feel like my head’s going to explode or my heart’s going to stop. Donald Trump makes fun of people like me and I cannot stand the fact that there are people that still makes excuses for that. Or these rednecks online that suddenly think they know more than me about the political course of this nation — you don’t. And you never have.

You may not agree with me, and you don’t have to.

But I am not mindless. I am not brainwashed. I am not dumb.  And I am not a sheeple. (And these conservatives always come welding the same Rush Limbaugh inspired insults — because they are never the authors of original and independent thought.) What I am, however,  is stressed, outraged,  and spiritually sick at the political state of our nation and the people that subscribe to politics because it’s a way to get their daily bump of hate heroin.

I need a fresh start. I need to move to a blue district and run for something. I need to de-stress and I need to take all this anger that has been forced upon me and use it to save what used to be the greatest nation on Earth. We still are — and it’s time that our Congress functions like it.

I’m afraid I’m gonna die of a heart attack if I don’t.

And I will NOT allow that ignorant ass, orange-faced, demagoging twat with a toddler-level vocabulary to kill me.

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