During the primaries, I wrote a blog titled In My Quest to Find Self-Esteem, I Stumbled Upon a Role Model in Hillary Clinton that got a good bit of attention. In it, I talked about how I was at a low point in life when Hillary announced her candidacy. I talked about how, in the process of researching to find out more about who she was as a politician and as a person, I felt empowered and inspired by her resilience, intelligence, persistence, and commitment to doing what’s right even when unfathomable amounts of abuse are hurled her way. If Hillary could keep going in the face of so many setbacks and so much scrutiny, I told myself, perhaps I could too. If Hillary thinks I should keep getting back up, then maybe I should listen. The more interviews and speeches I watched, the more she felt like the mom I didn’t have. I knew it was stupid to allow myself to feel that way about someone who doesn’t know me. I clung to it anyway because the powerful feeling I got when reading about her or listening to her speak was a refreshing break from the hopelessness and self-hatred I had been unable to snap out of for years. She made me feel like I had it in me to be a fighter.
I became really invested in her campaign. I went to campaign events and met friends who shared the same enthusiasm for the campaign as me. I wanted her to win for a mile-long list of reasons, one of the most selfish being that I wanted to keep seeing her face and hearing her voice for the next 4 to 8 years. I knew that waking up and hearing about the latest thing President Hillary was doing would continue to give me strength, as would the simple fact that she had triumphed in the end. I wanted everyone who criticized and insulted me for liking her to, at best, see what I saw all along and, at worst, know that I got the last laugh. I wanted her to bring greater visibility to the issues that impact me as a woman that tend to take a backseat, or no seat at all, under male leaders.
She didn’t win. She didn’t come out victorious over her many abusers who spent years doing everything in their power to pull her down, much like mine have. She gave it her all, pulled out all of the stops, and America rejected her in favor of a candidate who represents the very worst of America. My bullet-proof, badass feminist champion was defeated by a chest-beating chauvinist whose words and actions show an utter disdain for women, POWs, minorities, LGBTQ people, and people with disabilities. If a woman as hard-working, experienced, and intelligent as her can’t beat the person who proved himself to have little understanding of how just about anything works and who melted down debate after debate, then maybe any sense of hope I found in her was a farce. Maybe life really is just that unfair and hopeless. Maybe hard work, the truth, and common sense don’t matter, especially for women, and I should stop thinking anything I do will ever be enough.
Life has been a complete blur for me since about 10 p.m. on November 8th. Sometimes I think I’m getting over the disappointment, and then I remember that Hillary isn’t going to be around for me to see and derive strength from for the next several years. She’s going to settle down into retirement, where the world will largely forget she exists. No more Snapchats to bring a smile to my face. No more speeches and interviews to motivate me to go learn about all of the things she knows about that I didn’t even know I didn’t know. If I turn on my TV, I’ll just be greeted with the orange Cheeto...or maybe some pundit talking about how incompetent and terrible this woman who made me feel braver than ever for so many months actually is. All of my campaign merchandise feels like the belongings a dead relative left behind now, when it was supposed to make for prideful, happy memories.
I’m not self-important enough to think that anyone who voted for Trump—or anyone other than Hillary—owed me anything, but I hate them for doing this to me. I hate them for denying me this rare source of happiness I had found. I hate them for turning my Tuesday night celebration into a night of uncontrollable sobbing with thoughts like, “I want to die,” and “This can’t be happening,” swarming around my head. I hate that I’m hiding from everyone I know because not a single one of them will understand why my eyes are bloodshot and puffy over a presidential election. I don’t know where to go from here. This depression feels 10 times more intense and insurmountable than the depression I had previously known for several years. I feel lost and alone and hopeless and devalued as a human being and as a woman.