Disturbed

Coming to grips with leftardation™

My new dream symbol is the conservative hero figure. If you’re leftarded™ you’ll laugh at me calling it that, but honestly whatever with you already. Last night it was Matt Walsh. I congratulated him for Am I Racist being submitted to the Oscars. He was laying halfway under a car like an auto mechanic. I thought, does he know about my blog? Is now a good time to slip it into the conversation?

The other night it was Elon shaming me for wearing too much makeup after getting a position at an office he ran. I’d spent so much time putting myself together, only to be taken down. In both dreams I desperately wanted to please these men of influence and status—to achieve their approval.

In real life I used to chase approval from good-looking guys, and it had nothing to do with anything political. Any high status hottie would do.

Yes, I can say Daddy Issues.

When I was in high school I managed to sleep with a British pop star. It was 1985. I thought I’d arrived. (I had not arrived.) The sex was exhilarating. It was my first orgasm. I was fifteen. He was 23. I’d already slept with a handful of guys. The pop star was my third experience of statutory rape and I didn’t even know it.

Looking back on my past is disturbing, even more so now that I’ve left the left, as it enables precisely this type of self-harm. The left warns you not to “slut shame,” which reads like promotional material for promiscuity. It scolds you that “sex work is work,” which opens the door for an otherwise dignified lady to exchange cooch for cash. With its anything goes abortion stance, the left enables women to use abortion as birth control, which I did once upon a nightmare. All this, and it glorifies victimhood while terrorizing anyone who steps out of line—and the line moves all the damn time, because they are making it up as they go along.

Why wouldn’t someone with an ounce of shame and self-respect leave that fucking dysfunctional family?

Part of me wishes I could time travel and re-parent my younger self. I’d have to go back to the beginning, push my well-meaning but woefully ill-equipped parents out of the way, shove my much older siblings to the side. I’d whisk myself to a mythical land where I’d teach myself dignity and self-respect, plus a host of other skills I’d gathered along the way.

It’s exhausting and pointless to think about.

The silver lining however, is twofold. One, I have paid my hard won wisdom forward to my children, who instead of growing up like I did with chaos, confusion and abuse, instead only knew security, safety and trust. Yes there have been bumps and mistakes, but nothing like my childhood. And sidebar—as blue as they are politically, my kids are unfazed by the election results and yes still talk to me in the aftermath.

Thank God.

Paying it forward. Miss Miller and me, August, 2019.

Two, I have a point of view to share, and share I shall because as disturbing as my youth and former politics are to me, I am equally disturbed by the left’s reaction to Trump’s victory and to his supporters. I know it’s not all of you, but unfortunately it’s enough of you to make a dent, which means I get to experience the insanity firsthand—not just on TikTok, IG or X.

Here’s a screenshot of one particularly unhinged reaction to a note I wrote. First, my note:

Happy Election Day! I voted for Trump to keep kids safe from gender ideology plus a whole bunch of other things. Make America Sane Again!

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

And the response:

I blocked her, but only after learning my lesson the hard way with the nutcase who came before her:

“Jennie Haan,” a day or so earlier, responded to my note that I’d set women back to the 1950s, and because I was in a spicy victorious mood, I engaged. I told her to move to blue state if she wanted an abortion, she told me blah blah you Christian, I said I’m Jewish, she said Israel loves trans people, I said Israel would cease to exist without Trump, she said something about Israel and Iran something something, I said fuck off, she said she was trying to have a reasonable conversation, I said oh now you’re gaslighting like an obedient little leftard™, she said I hope you need a D&C one day, see how you like your rights taken away, I told her my rights were already taken away when my daughter’s school changed her name and pronouns behind my back, and she said, Oh I see. Your CHILD felt unsafe to go to you for support so THEY had to seek help elsewhere, and I told her she was deranged and again to fuck off, blocked her and then spent the next few hours simultaneously fantasizing about vengeance and cooling off because how DARE she interpret my story as proof that I’m a terrible parent and that my daughter would be better off without me.

Me, cooling off.

And I can’t talk about it with Mr Miller because we don’t go there, which makes me feel like, ugh, what the hell is happening in my marriage, which feels like a ghost of its former self, and what is happening in this world, and with all these people who believe such hideous lies, like that trans kids are real and not a chimerical invention borne of abusive, sick and twisted adults? Let alone all the other shit?

And I have no answers, only nudges from an inner voice telling me to stay off the socials, keep writing, and just breathe. Because I’ve worked too hard to have to deal this bullshit.

Or maybe I’ve worked this hard in order to deal with this bullshit.

🤔

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