Dear Jackass

Dear Jackass, aka Donald Trump.

I have had writer's block for 20 years or so, but I saw this website and thought that it'd be fun to get my aggressions out in writing, with a cash prize dangling over my head (not that I believe I'm going to win it). This letter is me talking straight to you. I am not trying to make this look pretty or presentable, except for spelling. Maybe. But grammar is not an issue to me, because I'm just mad. I'm happy. But I'm mad.

I am so mad that I remember when I heard the news that you won the election 4 years ago, I was sobbing. Not crying over spilled milk. I was grieving. It was the same kind of crying I did when I lost my mom to suicide. And it might seem that that IS an exaggeration and that, even at that time, a little much. But what I saw, as did others like me, is not just a bigot getting elected, but all the millions of bigots who got him elected and I KNEW what that meant. And we were right. We weren't just right, our expectations were exceeded. And that's not the thing someone wants to be right about.

What I heard on that day 4 years ago was the loud 10 knuckle crack of the Universe ready to strangle us. And all I could think of was my friends who are POC. Of my family who is Jewish, Indigenous Mexican. I myself am Transgender and Queer. I'm disabled. I, my family, and my friends, are everything that you stand against and hate. Now I come from privilege because of my skin color, among other things. So I can't imagine how my friends who are visibly POC felt on that day. If I was sobbing and aching, how did they feel? I can't remember but I'd assume worse, but also not surprised, and a day like any other. I will say that your presidency made me think a lot. I will not thank you for this.

Because that's what you don't get. You don't understand the fear. Have you ever felt fear like we do? I wonder if you ever did, what would you do. Would you change? How terrible it is to think that someone has to feel something in order to change their mind rather than listening to those that experience said thing. This is something I think about often, especially after that day. I think that if I had a superpower, what would it be and what would I do. I normally think about ending world hunger and all that good stuff, but on that day I thought about going back in time. I thought about mind control. I thought about making someone feel what I or any other marginalized person feels.

I fantasized a lot in the first year, and more into the second, and became numb right up until the end. I'm not going to say I got used to it all, but I was too exhausted to deal with it. Every day there was something new, there was a new killing, a new tweet, new bad news and it was too much. So from the outside it probably seemed like I was ignoring it, and maybe I was in a way. But that's because the alternative would be wanting to die, so self care came first.

I kept up to date, but I just stayed out of it.

But you just kept talking. I couldn't get away from you. I hated seeing your face, it filled me with rage to the point that I would rip up the image if I saw it long enough. Seeing your face makes me sick. Physically sick. And your supporters... Sometimes I fantasized about the Zombie Apocalypse and how cathartic that could be. Unfortunately, then came the virus, and you made me more depressed than I thought you were capable of.

I'm at the 600 minimum requirement, which is just as well because I'm getting too upset to really talk anymore. I don't expect to win anything, but that's okay because this was cathartic, even if a little. I hope that the same goes for others who are joining in.

Lastly, I want to say, is Fuck You. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck. you. I am glad you're gone. I am glad you are alive to see your empire fall. My only wish is that you are escorted out of the White House, a walk of shame to a cop car, when you suddenly slip on a banana peel and fall on your stupid ugly ass. And then you try and get up, and slip again, falling on your face. It's raining, and it's muddy. If there is a God, please gift us this. Thank you.

-Sincerely, Everything You Hate