I wake up screaming. Cold sweats. The warm feeling of urine soaked sheets and Hasan Piker themed pajama bottoms a result of the incessant stress ive been under.
Im still safe. The election hasn’t happened yet- theres still hope.
My trans wife and her nonbinary partner comfort me. “Another one?” Xir asks. “Yeah”
I get changed, head into the kitchen and make myself a soylent shake to wash down the lorazepam and triflupromazine Ive had to be on since 2016. I add a few shots of canola oil because its a heart healthy fat (I trust the science), and my doctor says Im malnourished and exceedingly underweight for being a 30 year old male.
Trump has made my life a living nightmare. Fascism won. I sit down legs crossed (in order to not perpetuate toxic masculinity by taking up too much space where women exist). Unable to sleep, my mind ruminates on the possibility of ending up in a camp around this time next year. I hope it never comes to that. She has to win.
