Donald Trump is my Abusive Father, and Both Are Dangerous

arth Cheddar, Donald Trump, is not my creation, not the man, but the name and I love not the man, but the name. In case you aren’t clear, that’s the Orange Ones new name. If the woman who named him that wants credit, e mail me or comment on here, and you’ve got it.

Now, about the Darth Cheddar. I’m not happy. That is an amazing understatement, and there will be swearing, so much swearing. So if that offends you, just stop reading right now, because it’s only going to get worse from right fucking here.

I am offended from my very soul at the very thought at the Darth Cheddar one. He is evil. I know this. I have met him before in the form of my very abusive father, James.

James was the man that raised me with my mother, Louise. Both were as the Cheddar oe would say, tremendous ASSHOLES. They were abusive physically, emotionally, and my father tried to FUCK ME when I was fourteen. You heard me correctly and this is where, in my opinion, there are similarities between Darth Cheddar and my father. Darth has said he would date his daughter if she weren’t his daughter. He said he found her attractive. H

Well, that’s not normal folks. That’s not okay. It’s not appropriate, and it’s creepy. It’s REALLY FUCKING CREEPY. As in, it makes my skin crawl. It should make your skin crawl too. However, you didn’t live with a sexual predator, so maybe your senses aren’t as finely tuned as mine.

You didn’t hear your father shout anything about your breasts as a young teen as your walked across the neighborhood with a friend, something about how your breasts were so small you didn’t need a bra, you just needed band aids. Then he laughed because he thought that was funny to embarrass me like that, shouting something so loud that even the neighbors could hear it. My female friend and I didn’t even know what to say to each other and couldn’t even meet each other’s eyes, we were both so embarrassed, and we never spoke about it again.

I’m telling you about this because you need to know what they are like in private. In their own neighborhood, and even worse, in the privacy of their own homes, behind closed doors where no one can see except their families and they let their guards down. Where they take off their smiling masks and become the monsters they truly are.

Those of us who have seem them up close, know them when we see them again, and I have seen my father in Donald Trump.

My father is still alive. He is 92 years old, has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t know who anyone is, and I made sure that he was safe in a good nursing home, but he is still evil. I know that. I lived with him. He tried to have sex with me when I was fourteen. He woke me up in the middle of the night over and over when I was seven years old and beat me while I stood on my twin bed, confused, terrified and crying. He screamed, “Just admit what you did.”

Every time he woke me up out of a sound sleep, I thought he would beat me until I died. At seven years old, every night I thought I was going to die. Think about that. I thought he would lose control of his rage and kill me. As he beat me, my thought was, “Tonight I am going to die.” I was terrified as he screamed at me the entire time he hit me while my mother stood on the other side of the bed and watched. All she ever did was silently watch him beat me or my sister.

Everyione thought my parents were perfect, good people. Becuase that’s the part they played in public. They looked the part. I have friends who will still be shocked at what they did, who may not believe me. But I would not make this up. I have suffered from the effects of this abuse for my entire life. I’m fifty-five now, and I didn’t feel safe until I was fourty-seven.  Guess what? I don’t feel safe again. Now in Trump’s world.

And my sister, who was four at the time, and adopted out of an abusive home because my good, loving, church going parents SAVED her. Let that sink in. They saved her so that my father could wake her up sometimes in the middle of the night and beat her and scream over and over, “Just admit what you did.” But neither of us ever knew what we did because they made up the rules. They changed the rules. One rule I remember breaking was that I moved a candle from one spot on the end table by the sofa to another spot on the same end table. I remember thinking that I’d never break that rule again. They just make up more rules.

They tortured two little children and my father used our small bodies as punching bags to work out his rage because he felt what? In adequate? Angry? Frustrated?  I don’t know.

Then afterwards he would sit in a chair in our bedroom, after having beaten us, and put his head in his hands and act like HE HAD JUST BEEN THROUGH HELL. He did.   He was evil.

The next morning at breakfast he acted like nothing had happened. We were expected to act like nothing had happened and be nice and polite and loving towards him and my mother.

They were both evil.

Then suddenly the beatings stopped. No explanation. No reason. It just stopped. The mind games began.  My parents both tortured my sister and me with mind games.

But what I’m telling you is that I lived with evil. I’ve seen this before, up close and personal. My father didn’t respect women. He didn’t respect me  or any woman. He was and is sexist. My father was and is racist. He made racial slurs in the privacy of our home. He was and is homophobic.

He was and is stupid.  Although, I think he was actually smarter than Darth Cheddar, and THAT is saying something. This is just my opinion but seriously, he uses the word, bigly.

My father was poor, not rich. There’s a difference for you. So he wasn’t arrogant. He hid his narcissism. He didn’t feel like he could get away with it like Darth Cheddar and believe me he thinks he can get away with it. He has.

My father lied about me and to me. It’s called gas lighting. Look it up. It makes you feel crazy, making you feel like your reality isn’t real. Both of my parents did that to me. That didn’t happen. You don’t remember that correctly. We never said that. You have a bad memory.

Darth Cheddar has tried to do that to the entire country, but he’s had a little problem with things being on film. And yet, so many people have believed the things he has said. THAT I do not understand

My father lied to me and about me. He told other people lies about me right in front of me but he was so charming and convincing that I knew as a teenager that no one would believe me. So I said nothing. What could I say?

He told friends and family that when I was learning to drive that I drove into our house. He told people who I drove into the stop sign on the corner near our house. Neither of those things ever happened. People laughed when he told those stories. I remember standing in the kitchen as he told those stories and looking at my father. He looked right back at me and kept lying.

I remember taking my elderly mother sick with Parkinson’s Disease to the hospital emergency room for treatment as an adult in my late thirties. My father had told me I as stupid my entire life. I escaped my home at nineteen. I put myself through college because my parents had no plans for me to go to college. I had to escape.

I had worked for over twenty years as a professional in the social services field. I was at that time a case manager working with mentally ill adults and had traveled back to Pennsylvania to visit my sick mother from Florida. The doctors started talking, and my white racist father’s face went blank when the Indian doctor started speaking.

I respectfully listened and talked with the doctor as he updated me regarding my mother’s condition. When the doctor’s left the room my father said to me incredulously, “The doctor’s acted like you were the smart one in the room.”

I nodded because I knew I was the smart one in the room, but I said nothing because I knew with my father, there was no point. There never had been.

I’ve been saying it over and over and screaming for someone to hear me. Please hear me now. Donald Trump IS my father. And my father IS  Donald Trump. And in my opinion, in my very well-trained and educated opinion and in my very painful experience, I believe they are both narcissists and sociopaths.

In my opinion Donald Trump is dangerous for America.I belive he is extremely dangerous for America and for everyone in it, but especially for everyone who is not male and white.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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About jambiethoughts

My name is Jamie W. Bryant,. Sometimes I drop the W. I am a currently a 55 year old woman with a serious sense of whimsy. I was having a hard time describing myself but when a friend said everyone wanted to be a princess, men and women, I said to call me a Queen, Warrior Queen. I think Whimsical Happy sometimes Silly Warrior Queen Who Takes No Shit But Is Really Kind and loves to have fun but is really responsible might do it. It is long, however I have never been good at editing myself, in SO MANY WAYS, so there is that. If you still have no idea who I am, well, read my blog and try to figure it out. I can be serious. I can be silly. I love to make myself and others laugh. I speak real shit. I believe everyone should be treated with respect, and I will if you will. I calls them as I sees them. I sometimes swear. Gasp! I do not swear when I am in the presence of children, but this blog is for grown ups. You have been warned.
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