I think of the brutal separation anxiety I went through when my time with Kiddo was cut by half… how, for months, most days I could just not function at all when she wasn’t here—crying, sleeping, drinking… staring at the ceiling wishing I could just be numb. Then I think about all those poor fucking kids being ripped away from their parents and put into cages and I feel sick to my stomach and full of horror and rage.
I never thought I would use the word “triggered” for myself, but I am fucking triggered, friends. I can’t stop thinking about those kids and their parents. Inconsolable. Terrified. And I can’t help but think about what would happen if Kiddo was taken away from me with no explanation and no way to know if she’s all right. Or if she’s warm enough… and fed… and… and… See? I’m in tears again. How does someone survive that? Certainly not intact.
These are evil times. Christ, I thought my level of horror about the US was bad six months ago…