An open letter to Donald Trump fans (please share)

Hey you!

Do you own a small business? Or does your mom, dad, sister, wife, brother, or best friend own a small business? Do you work for a small business? Odds are, either you or someone you know is a small business owner.

Hell. I'M a small business owner.

So I know the exact amount of sweat, anxiety, fear, elation, confusion, and, pride that goes into opening and operating a small business.

Compared to someone like Donald Trump, we're small potatoes. Potato seeds, even.

That small.

Except guess what? There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of lawsuits, complaints, injunctions, and settling out of court in Trump's background.
Because he screws over his contractors. He screws over the architects, glass people, carpenters, machinists, and so on.

And? If you provided a service Trump wanted, he would hire you.

And then, after you had performed your very best work for Mr. Trump and sent him your invoice?

Then you would wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Meanwhile, the mortgage has to be paid, your rent is due, liability insurance is due this month, and insurance, and food, and the car note(s), your kid has an othodontist appointment, your supplier are hounding you for money, and your daughters tuition is due, and maybe there's a wedding.

This is what happened to the people who trusted Trump. Who believed he would follow through on a promise. And he screwed them.

Well guess what?  THEY had a written, notarized contract. And he still screwed them. Blatantly. In broad daylight, even.

HE SCREWS THE WORKING MAN, AND LEECHES OFF THE BACKS OF REGULAR PEOPLE. People like you and me. WE didn't get a "small loan" of $1,000,000 when we graduated college.

Know what I got? A swift dose of reality, in the form of a size 11 coming at my face (I worked on a rough girl's group home).

He THEN inherited another $40 million when his dad died.

GUYS, HE'S ROLLING IN IT.

Donald Trump has a GOLD TOILET, FOR FUCKS SAKE. Admit it. People like you and I would SELL THAT FREAKING TOILET! Disneyworld. Paying down the mortgage. New car. College tuition. 401k. Whatever you feel like buying because YOU JUST SOLD A FUCKING SOLID GOLD TOILET, Y'ALL.

But no. Donald Trump LITERALLY SHITS ON YOUR DREAMS.

Are you starting to see the differences between hardworking, regular people such as yourself, and the pampered, bloated, never-worked-a-hard-day-in-his-life Donald Trump?

Have you even SEEN how soft and white his hands look? When was the last time that guy ever did a solid day's work?

THIS is the guy you like? I don't think so. I think that if you met him at a backyard barbecue, he'd somehow manage to make you feel insignificant, small, insecure, judged, and pissed.

What on earth makes you think he wouldn't  screw you? Those contractors believed his promise. AND THEY HAD A WRITTEN CONTRACT. You won't even have that. So then he would refuse to pay you. And then his lawyers would call you and tell you that Mr. Trump will drag this case out for years. And you can't afford that,  so you should settle for $.30 on the dollar.

He's a parasite.

Am I the only one feeling this way? No, seriously. I can't be the only one. Right?

So, I've really been fighting my anxiety and depression. SERIOUSLY. FIGHTING.

So many days lost to the irrational belief that I couldn't pull this off. Which only lead to countless days lost, and productivity that I can't get back.

ENOUGH.

I refuse to be held hostage by my anxiety, fears, past traumas, and depression.

As of this day on, I reclaim my life. Not just in word, but in deed.

It's so much easier for me to hang out on Facebook all day, watching, observing, jumping in when we want, and then leaping out when it gets awkward or boring. Judging. Speaking Forth. Finding a cause du jour, because HOW HARD CAN THAT BE, ACTUALLY, NOWADAYS?

Meanwhile, my own personal  Rome burns.

No.

I'm going to focus on that which I have control over. At least, I'm going to TRY.

When I worked in substance abuse treatment, we used to ( chant, "If you do what you do, you'll get what you get."

Well, that saying doesn't only go for addicts and and alcoholics. It goes for everyone.

So after my epiphany tonight, I walked upstairs, and I felt good. I'd figured out a big obstacle (my self-defeating thoughts), and I knew I needed to scan and save my son's school application.

But then, my depressed brain told me: "Chill. You'll scan and send it tomorrow. Probably. And if you don't get to it tomorrow, the next day, for sure."

Meanwhile, my anxiety was all like:
'HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS YOU GUYS WE'RE ALL GOING TO LITERALLY DIE A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE FUCKING DEATH THAT PROBABLY INVOLVES ARACHNIDS, KNIVES, FIRE, AND ENDING YOUR DAYS IN A CARDBOARD BOX. WE. MUST. ACT. NOW."

It was then that my depression whispered: "That sounds scary and overwhelming. Let's let tomorrow figure that out."

Then, when my tomorrow showed up, ready to kick ass, but my anxiety growled: "We already have SO MUCH SHIT TO DO OMG HOW ARE YOU EVER GOING TO GET IT ALL DONE AND WHERE WILL WE START BECAUSE JUST SO YOU KNOW IT'S ALL EQUALLY IMPORTANT IN COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WAYS SO HOW THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIGURE OUT WHERE TO START?????

In the end, I calmed down both sides of my brain, and I fucking DID THE THING. I scanned all three pages of his application. One page was a large tarantula drawing he'd done. He insisted I include it in the application, so I did. Those teachers are so lucky. He gave me TEN drawings that he thought I should fax to this school.

Speaking as a clinically depressed, anxious, ADHD individual who is also a mental health therapist, I believe that education and therapy can only go so far. Taking absolute responsibility for our own well being is where it's at.

This is the state of my brain right now. We are, collectively, loosing our shit.

BUT.

It's all going to be ok. Not because situations have changed, but because my world view has changed.

If I want different, I have to BE different. And it won't happen daily. Or consistently.

But it WILL HAPPEN.