Namely, his predisposition toward making up, and then standing behind his words, which are often pulled out of thin air. He's got an attitude that the world should accept them as truth.
The president's actions are not unlike those of my own father, and probably his father and his father's father, etc. just as they may be, or once have been, with yours.
This awful parenting tradition, passed down and continued with great passion by my own father and witnessed by my indifferent mother, is exacerbated by trump's mere presence. A horrible feeling of being ensnared here, with no apparent escape from the situation has been resurrected from some dark place in my mind, and it once again is strong as ever.
Ironically, I never felt safer from my father when in jail last February for refusing to put a leash on my service dog and holding it with my already occupied only hand.
At around age eleven, the memories once again flooded my thoughts. Forty years after the honeymoon period I enjoyed with my father ended for good, the flashbacks of his abuse were once again triggered in earnest.
Being shut in, not just behind bars but a thick steel door that was closed every evening in a state of what they called “lockdown”, was strangely comforting.
I remember thinking, in the haze the complete and total absence of my medication, that my automatic return to the nightmarish situation, this time as an adult, did not lead to feelings of aloneness and despondency, but safety.
How it could possibly be I don't know. But, in telling them about my experience for lack of anyone else to call, it seemed my parents - yes, both of them - reverted to their old patterns.
It was my mother to whom I spoke first, as I figured it would be. Ultimately, my father refused to speak to me, as if denying me the honor of his attention was something that would strike at the very heart of me.
Never mind that it was he who was behind the regular beatings and confinement to my bedroom for months at a time, with yard work as my only respite, during summer school break.
Yes, I am indeed an evil person. What a laughable idea. But such reminders of this also emanate from the White House, though now it’s all of America that is held captive.
The only hope we have, indeed, is despite the uncertainty of the date, we're all in this together, not suffering alone. No matter what his hardheaded “base of support” believes, impeachable offenses have already been committed, and the president will one day have to answer to them.
Unlike the inescapable predicament of my youth, my father could mistreat me with impunity as my mother looked on. Then, both of them would contend that the conflict they conspired to create was actually my fault. This in mind, I realize they must be among Trump's defiant supporters. How could they not be?
Consider this: At the time of my release from the jail, not once did my mother ask what on earth could happened to result in such a terrible thing.
Rather, convinced without evidence of any wrongdoing, my mother, suddenly feigned being upset and blurted out “You just called to upset me”. Then she said, with conviction that “I could tell in the hospital when the nurses handed you to me by the look in your eyes that you are evil”.
Realizing in my adult mind how terribly sick that sounded, I simply responded “No, I simply called to say goodbye”. It was a much nicer response than she - or my other family members who've become sycophantic clones of my parents - deserved.
Why I was so restrained, perhaps even nice about it, I'll never know. Maybe it was some relic of the dynamic that once existed in my subordinate relationship with them. Through our country's notorious leader, the memories returned.
Nonetheless, that old, familiar interaction with my mother had a strange benefit. As I ended the call, I was struck by the feeling that I'd somehow survived something so horribly wrong yet managed to come out alive on the other end.
In short, the cards dealt me in the birth lottery were stacked against me from the very beginning. Statistically speaking, I never stood a chance; I should have become just another childhood suicide.
Not that I didn't consider it, but I believe I was afraid even to try it. So strong was my fear that I believed they could punish me, even in death.
The fact that I still have such unsupportable yet very real feelings of despondency when I visualize the angry image that belies such irrational thinking and subsequent behaviors the so-called “leader of the free world “ I is a trigger for me.
Therefore, if I feel this way, others must, too. While I wish I could comfort us with some uplifting words, as I search the recesses of my mind I'm unable to find any.
The only thing I can offer you is that you are not alone, and that we are all in this together. It's together, then, that we will one day prevail.
With luck, the world will become more adept at recognizing and tolerating those who are mentally ill.
Until then, may we all soon find Peace and Kindness in our hearts and in our world.
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