Heartsick, Harmed, and Horrified
These are not my United States.
In my teens, I became disillusioned about politics, fairness, and government. Maybe it’s because I grew up in Arizona, where people always seemed to suffer and toil. Possibly it’s because my family always side-eyed government like it was a dirty necessity. I really don’t know.
In the last thirty years, I’ve watched this country bloom and blossom. We came together more and more. It felt like things were improving. I began to hope against hope that maybe my America was finally maturing, finally out-growing its terrible beginnings.
I was wrong. We were all so very wrong.
In the 80s, I encountered Donald Trump through my Grandmother’s Republican eyes. She disdained him as a rich, selfish man, beneath her notice. I have never been one to take other people’s opinions as fact, and so I watched him through the years.
I watched on TV as the scandal unfolded when he cheated on his first wife with Marla Maples. When his first wife accused him of spousal rape — I heard.
When Jeffrey Epstein and Donald Trump were besties, I saw. I avoided watching Trump on TV, but even the soundbites of “The Apprentice” showed me exactly who he was: abrasive, angry, and abusive.
