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My Ex Became President
When I first saw Trump speak after being shortlisted as a GOP candidate, I was struck by an odd sense of familiarity. There was something about the way he smirked, his smug and entitled tone, the seething hatred for his political enemies brimming to the surface. As the light struck his blond swoop of his hair and his lip curled in contempt, I realized what it was.
My sense of dread increased as we hurtled toward Election Day. When the results came in, I stared at the TV in shock. I’d gathered with friends at a local bar, hoping to celebrate our first female president. Instead, I was stunned into silence, and my heart began to race. While I was concerned about Trump’s positions, I had a specific reason for not wanting to see Trump on TV every day.
Trump was my abusive ex-boyfriend all over, and now, I’d have to be reminded of the worst year of my life every day for the next four years.
My ex was ugly inside and out. He was much older than I, but he swept me off my feet with unfettered adoration and claims of unprecedented feelings for me. He seemed like a talented, smart, and charming man, and ultimately, that matters more to me than good looks. I didn’t see the monster inside him until it was too late to escape.
Like Trump, he was immensely narcissistic. Blond with blue eyes, he constantly talked about what good genes he had…
