Where I'm At

Not in a Good Place, but That's Fine Right Now

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I am more startled it took this long.

Because the United States’ Constitutional democratic republic arose on the foundations of genocide and slavery, November 5’s election results only surprised me that fascism (though I prefer Gore Vidal’s word choice of crypto-Nazi) and autocracy did not clench their venomous claws into America sooner. The morning of November 6 morphed into afternoon, and rage and apoplexy filled the dazed hollowness that greeted me after a night of disturbed sleep.

Radioactive wrath cauterized any sense of limited rhetorical eloquence I may have held along with sadness and tears. Oh how I wanted to bawl because the electorate's steaming stew of racist, xenophobic, transphobic, homophobic and misogynist diarrhea mixed with puke now drenched the U.S. Constitution.

Yet I couldn’t.

Weeks later I still haven’t cried. I think my CPTSD is making me dissociate. Not even Bobby Brainworms’,

Jeff Tiedrich

’s term, talk of wellness camps has made me cry though it has heightened my anxiety and depression. Already inmate number P01135809 and Hitler Hairplugs have openly expressed and shown their love for eugenics. Hitler Hairplugs even ignored the death of test monkeys to pursue his eugenics further on a human subject.

Despondency, dread and pessimism now take turns breast stroking within the lanes of my arteries, veins and capillaries. I feel isolated and abandoned. Most of all, I feel betrayed and mocked. All this week I have woken up nauseated, and a few times I felt ready to vomit. I only nibble popcorn, almonds and part of a turkey sandwich my husband made me (Delicious; Bill should have gone to culinary school) when I feel lightheaded.

And I drink water. Lots of water. Frequent deep breaths and long exhalations pepper my days.

Already a highly sensitive person on top of being an empath, my body has taken in the stress of the country and the world on top of my own tension. These have triggered my multiple sclerosis. It has become hard for me to walk, and an intense fatigue along with migraines and tension headaches have steamrolled me. I remain in bed as long as I can before leaving for work and head to bed around 6:45 p.m.

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On Tuesday, I took a Lyft home after my tutoring shift. Once home at 3:50 p.m., I texted my daughter as she rode the bus home from school to let her know I was not feeling well. I told her I would be in my bedroom when she arrived home and to wake me when she wanted dinner. Once I sent her my my final text with a heart emoji, I curled into my regular soothing fetal sleep position and drifted off from my consciousness for 14 hours. Ever the empath herself, my kind daughter left me undisturbed. She snacked on her favorite apples until my husband arrived home from jury duty to make her dinner an hour later.

While I walked to my morning bus the next day, I realized the last time I felt this tackiness of devastation, this stickiness of depression, this filth of destruction, this oil of hopelessness was after a hit-and-run driver in 2008 killed my friend Michael “Murph” Murphy . Murph was one of the best, most giving, most selfless and most kind persons I have ever known. Along with all these wonderful qualities, Murph was a genuinely talented and skillful musician and singer-songwriter. He played several instruments, including the cello. At the time of his death, he was learning the violin.

Murph and his bandmates from Leave had just finished recording their third independent album the day before a reckless and impatient driver killed him and his dog Bruiser whom he was walking that night. After Murph’s sudden passing, the surviving band members titled their now final album On a Happy Note . . . Their three albums Don’t Go, I’d Rather Not Say and On a Happy Note . . . can be streamed on Tidal, Spotify and YouTube.

A year before Murph’s death, Leave’s songs had appeared on Chicago’s WXRT-FM’s now defunct Local Anesthetic, a weekend show that featured Chicago’s best independent alternative bands. Below you can watch Leave’s video for its song “Any Other Way” from its first album Don’t Go. Murph sings lead and plays rhythm guitar. My other friends who made up Leave were Jim Latsis (lead guitar and vocals), Joe Herrmann (bass) and Terry Keating (drums) who offers drumming lessons and all-things-drumming on his YouTube channel Bonzoleum.

Murph’s death left me not just with inconsolable sadness but a profound sense of injustice and fury toward the universe. I also contended with confusion and infuriation toward God. Over and over I questioned why this happened. At one point while crying alone, I screamed at God about what I felt were His cruel intentions and unfairness. My grief ran so deep and irrational that I even blamed myself for Murph’s death.

The night Murph was killed, my husband and I had attended an R.E.M. concert at United Center. Earlier in the day, I had felt a cold starting to overtake me and mentioned to my husband that I’d wanted Murph and his girlfriend to have our concert tickets. Bill had told me he bought the R.E.M. tickets as an early birthday present for me and encouraged me to take an extra vitamin C and drink another glass of orange juice. He knew how much I love R.E.M. and didn't want me to miss them. We had seen R.E.M. three times already in concert.

By the disappointed look on Bill's face, I took that extra vitamin C with an extra glass of orange juice, and we still attended the concert. When Bill checked his voice mail after we arrived home after midnight, we learned of Murph’s sudden and savage death. For a month, I blamed myself. On a loop I scolded myself that if only I had been more adamant with Bill about giving our tickets to Murph and his girlfriend, Murph would have remained alive. It took me six months to start feeling like myself again and a year before I could listen to Murph’s music or watch videos of him without breaking into tears.

Vice President Kamala Harris’s loss to a sub-par violent white crook who has failed upward throughout his life without accountability or consequences excavated these exact same sensations. Emotions and guilt that I thought EMDR had helped me process plagued me. Again the feelings were vicious, inconsolable and disturbing.

I believed I did not do enough to help elect Harris as our 47th President. I told myself her defeat was something I could have prevented and dismissed my phone banking; writing and mailing of 500 postcards to Georgia voters; writing about Harris, the election, and MAGA on this Substack and financially donating when I was able to to her campaign and the campaigns of other Democrats like Ohio Senator Sherrod Brown who, like Harris, lost his race to a MAGA-Nazi.

Waiting for the 78 bus Wednesday morning, I pulled from my backpack the copy of Alexei Navalny's Patriot I had purchased days before the election. On the yellow passenger bench, I began reading it. After taking my seat on the bus, I continued to read Navalny’s first chapter until I arrived at the Narragansett stop where I crossed the street for Wilbur Wright College.

Since November 6, I’ve been wishing Murph was still with me along with my late godmother and godfather who had lived through the Great Depression as children and World War II as teenagers. I needed to talk to them. Most of all, I needed my Aunt Barb and Uncle Al to tell me everything would turn out okay. My dad told me now is the time to be financially conservative to prepare for the economic devastation inmate #P01135809 will cause. I can only control myself and what I do for my family moving forward.

I believe in God and have been praying and talking to God along with praying for the interventions of Murph, Aunt Barb and Uncle Al, my patron saint Teresa of Avila, and the Franciscan saints Francis of Assisi, Anthony of Padua, Catherine of Bologna, whom my daughter took for her Confirmation name after two years ago and Servant of God Thea Bowman. Right now we have to reach for whatever keeps us calm and centered.

Having gone through EMDR and trauma-informed therapy, I know I just have to feel this and be gentle with myself and protect myself. I hope you all are too. One thing I am doing is blocking MAGA-Nazi trolls instead of engaging with them on social media. Blocking MAGA-Nazi trolls suffocates their oxygen and reason for existing. Like we had experienced with Covid, what we experienced from the election results is trauma. WebMD provides these methods for managing and coping with trauma:

• Not isolating ourselves. Reach out to family and friends.

• Seeking professional help.

• Joining a support group.

• Not avoiding the trauma but acknowledging it.

• Exercising

• Performing Self care and listening to our bodies.

• Not taking alcohol and drugs

• Getting back into or getting into a routine

• Taking stock of life

• Fixing the things we can on a small scale.

• Meditating

• Listening to music

• Celebrating being alive

Comedy has been one of the areas I have often turned to in my life when I’ve encountered a sad event or experienced the aftermath of a trauma. Laughter strengthens our immune systems, increases our endorphins, releases tension and can help shift a doomed and passive perspective. Several times since November 5, I have watched Mel Brooks’ 1967 Academy-Award-winning classic The Producers. Brooks, who fought in World War II, used satire to ridicule the Nazis who exterminated six million of his fellow Jews to process his depression and anger over The Holocaust and Hitler.

I teach satire to my English 102 students and enjoy Jeff Tiedrich and Andy Borowitz’s Substack. Satire is a talent that has alas evaded me, but I still enjoy reading and watching it. I hope you do as well and that it helps you manage your own trauma as you process the election and what’s to come on and after January 20, 2025. One suggestion for handling that date: Acknowledge and do acts of service on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day instead of watching and discussing the Inauguration. Inmate number P01135809 is a psychopathic malignant narcissist, and like blocking trolls, not giving him the attention he desperately needs cuts off his oxygen.