How. How. Tell me how.

I know. I know. I have to blame my anxiety on something. Doesn’t matter if it’s legitimate. As long as it’s a remote possibility.  So that I can better deal with my burgeoning anxiety. By pretending. That it has a real cause. Capable of being dealt with. So that I can let go of the anxiety.  And lead a more calm and normal and blessed life. More or less free of worry and regret. Anyway, I’m blaming my anxiety on Donald Trump. The clown. The court jester. The politician with asinine ideas.  Hard for me to believe that Donald Trump exists. I’d like to write him off. As a nightmare. That I need only to awaken. For him to go away. But Trump is more than a figment of my ghoulish imagination. He’s real. He exists. And as preposterous as it may seem,  he’s become a hero. A potential savior. For enough of my fellow Americans. To emerge. As president-elect.  I don’t want to believe it. Please, let me go into denial. Instead of lapsing into dreadful high anxiety. Not even gawd can help me. How am I to find my way out of this horrible mental and emotional morass? --Jim Broede