Sometimes I have to humor myself when it comes to my own Anxiety Disorder. Tonight, I pictured what life might be like as Trump’s wife… hold on, I feel a panic attack coming on. Breathe… breathe… exhale. Someone please pass me a paper bag, no forget that, I need a drink and Xanax to continue writing this.
Okay, so I didn’t have to have a drink or take a pill but my body is tense just thinking of being Trump’s wife, it’s actually a repulsive feeling. I find him so creepy that I feel invaded just writing this story.
I think being married to Trump would create a new form of anxiety disorder that the Medical Journals have yet to define, maybe it would be called TTS- “Traumatic Trump Syndrome.” Wait a sec, aren’t many of us experiencing that already?
First of all, the marriage would be completely one sided and as his wife, you’d be irrelevant with the exception of him having bragging rights or expecting sex on demand, can I puke yet?!
Feeling sick today, too bad because it will never be about you. A normal husband would ask if you need something, possibly tell you to go lay down and possibly make dinner or order something for himself, your child (or children) while making sure your needs are met too. But, Trump is not normal. He’d walk in the home, oh sorry I meant the gold plated apartment and would ask, “What the hell is wrong with you, I expected dinner on the table when I walked through the door,” and, “Why do you still have those ugly flannel pajamas on, we don’t wear those in my abode, now go take a shower, pull your shit together woman and put on the dress I bought you, don’t forget the 1000.00 stiletto’s I bought you Whore!
Your heart is beating 100 miles per minute but not for Trump, anxiety is becoming full blown. After you dress up for your master, he follows you around like a pit bull, breathing hot, smelly breath down your back. You’re trying to get the food on the table while he keeps asking, “Who’s the hottest daddy you know?” “Tell me, I want to hear it… tell me, I’m your hot daddy!”
