Fear

I’m filled again with hate—not hate for people, but hate for the way people make me feel about everyday life. I hate the fact that I am being made to feel fear. I hate that others are poised to take advantage of my fear and use it to malicious ends. I hate that this election cycle has forced me to look at everyone I know and ask some very scary questions.

Are they a Trump voter? Do they want to see me dead or disenfranchised? Do I need to watch over my shoulder after the election? Will I make it home in one piece? Or will I be woken in the middle of the night by an assailant?

Et tu Brute?

I hate the fact that I’m conditioned to it now. It’s why I still carry a pocket knife everywhere I go. It’s why I keep an eye on the ingress and egress points anywhere I go. It’s why I watch people’s body language and their emotional responses so closely.

It’s not that I don’t trust anybody; it’s that I don’t know who to trust or who to believe anymore.

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