Why I'm so upset today.
It's not because of Trump's inauguration. I've made my peace with that. It's not because everyone in the country is attacking each other over their stance on him (sometimes literally). It's something a bit more personal than that.
On Election Day itself, I was most upset at Trump winning. My father made comments that, while not precisely confirming that he voted for Trump, certainly made it sound like he did. He had made comments prior to the election that really only confirmed to me that he voted for Trump. Stuff like the women accusing him of sexual harassment only doing it for the attention.
I've been holding on to this for all this time, trying to forget about it. I can't. Ever since I put two and two together about my Dad's stance on Trump, I've hated him for it. Because I thought he was better than that. I thought that my dad was a man of principle, a man who would never vote for someone who treats women so heinously for President of the United States of America. I thought my dad was someone who treated all men equally, who didn't balk at someone having different opinions on things just because they were different. His older sister is a Democrat. My mother, his wife of over 30 years, is a survivor of sexual abuse.
I thought Dad cared about the environment and education and the economy and the fact that his oldest daughter has no health care coverage because of greediness and the neglect of the poor by the wealthy. I thought Dad cared about the poor and needy and downtrodden and socially disenfranchised.
I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. He doesn't care about any of that. He just wants things his way. And I don't like the look of his way. I used to like it. But I was young and naive and sheltered and stupid back then. I knew nothing about the real world. And something tells me that while my Dad may have known something of the real world before, he is utterly blind to it now.
I have to let go of this hate. How I don't know. If I tell either parent, I'm afraid that they'll either dismiss me altogether or else make me sound like a raving lunatic and have me shipped off to the psych ward with no chance of coming back to my house.
On Election Day itself, I was most upset at Trump winning. My father made comments that, while not precisely confirming that he voted for Trump, certainly made it sound like he did. He had made comments prior to the election that really only confirmed to me that he voted for Trump. Stuff like the women accusing him of sexual harassment only doing it for the attention.
I've been holding on to this for all this time, trying to forget about it. I can't. Ever since I put two and two together about my Dad's stance on Trump, I've hated him for it. Because I thought he was better than that. I thought that my dad was a man of principle, a man who would never vote for someone who treats women so heinously for President of the United States of America. I thought my dad was someone who treated all men equally, who didn't balk at someone having different opinions on things just because they were different. His older sister is a Democrat. My mother, his wife of over 30 years, is a survivor of sexual abuse.
I thought Dad cared about the environment and education and the economy and the fact that his oldest daughter has no health care coverage because of greediness and the neglect of the poor by the wealthy. I thought Dad cared about the poor and needy and downtrodden and socially disenfranchised.
I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. He doesn't care about any of that. He just wants things his way. And I don't like the look of his way. I used to like it. But I was young and naive and sheltered and stupid back then. I knew nothing about the real world. And something tells me that while my Dad may have known something of the real world before, he is utterly blind to it now.
I have to let go of this hate. How I don't know. If I tell either parent, I'm afraid that they'll either dismiss me altogether or else make me sound like a raving lunatic and have me shipped off to the psych ward with no chance of coming back to my house.