I’m cycling through the phases of grief. Today I spent a lot of time in anger.
I’m angry at the people who voted for a hateful bigot who believes I am worth nothing more than the number he’d use to rate my appearance.
I’m angry that all the news outlets need to treat that racist, misogynistic monster with kids gloves now that he’s the president-elect. That he basically gets a free pass on all the horrible things he said and all the hate he spread.
I’m angry that I’m being implored to have empathy and understanding for the close-minded people who did this, when it’s clear they have no empathy and understanding for people who are different from them.
I’m angry that I will have to be the bigger person, because it’s clear that the people who support Trump are not capable of being the bigger person themselves.
I’m angry. And right now I’m not interested in bridging the divide. I’m not interested in empathy and understanding. I’m not interested in feeling for the white man who feels marginalized by the reality of 21st century America, who is scared of globalization and rapid technological change, who just wants his good old, white, hetero normative privilege back (though he won’t admit to enjoying such privilege).
Right now I’m angry.
And I’m not going to make myself feel anything else. At least not yet.