[This is Chapter 1 of my novel, “In The Wake Of Chaos.” I encourage you to read the front matter and introduction previously posted first to get the full richness of this magical story.]
“losing hope in humanity...”
Stoic and numb. That best describes my state of mind as I flip the remote back and forth between a multitude of news channels in utter disbelief. Mortified, I sit alone in my rustic yet luxurious hotel suite along the quaint winding banks of the San Antonio River Walk in Texas.
Perks of the job.
It’s deep into the night of November 8, 2016, and any remaining hope of seeing the first female president elected in U.S. history is quickly crumbling and fading away.
This can’t be happening.
Besides feeling sick to my stomach, it’s like the life is literally being sucked right out of me. No, cancel that. It’s more like a direct punch to the gut. The resurgence of an early-twenties lockjaw condition takes hold again as literal shock hijacks my body.
Kinda like how we watch horror movies and aren’t able to move or look the other way, I am not quite able to lift myself up off the sofa to go to bed.
My heart sinks as I watch the momentum shift towards, honestly, the most bizarre Republican nominee in American history. Scratch that.
He isn’t really a traditional Republican.
Trump’s branding that party into something else, and far away from the normal standards that up until now the GOP conservative party claimed to represent.
Horrified, as the realization sets in that a reality TV star, might actually have more support than anyone would’ve guessed, I take another sip of the Bloody Mary cocktail I brought up to my room in a zombie-like daze.
Bloody Mary.
Is this a foreshadow of what’s to come?
Damn, this can’t be happening.
I must have slipped in the shower and hit my head. Wishful thinking. That’s because I haven’t even taken the time yet to change out of my clothes after a long day of interviews, meetings, and work-related research, let alone stepped into the oversized shower.
Seriously, how could anyone support such an under-qualified and often unhinged man as the new leader of the United States—and so clearly unfit to lead America?
That’s my opinion at least.
My educated, fact-filled opinion that is.
Didn’t American voters realize he’s a serial litigator fighting hundreds, if not thousands, of lawsuits because of his questionable business practices and employee disputes? How does this exemplify being a great businessman?
Give me a break.
Really?
We’ve never seen evidence of his supposed wealth.
He won’t show us his tax returns.
And he’s in the habit of bankrupting his businesses, so why exactly would he be a good steward for our economy?
How could multitudes of people look the other way and believe it’s okay to degrade women, use them as objects to grab, and treat them with little or no respect?
“Grab them by the pussy!”
“They’ll let you do anything.”
Could tens of millions of voters choose someone like this who demonstrates a complete lack of human decency, respect or integrity?
Apparently so.
Why would so many citizens be blind to the man behind the facade? Or what he actually stands for—which is mainly his own self-interests and ego?
Enter the man behind the Wizard of Oz.
Most notably, wasn’t anyone listening to what Trump’s own ghostwriter says about him? This is someone who spent 18 months getting inside his head to write The Art of the Deal book. If anyone knew the real person behind the showman marketer Trump is, it’d certainly be this guy.
Who incidentally now believes he’s a full-on psychopath.
Seriously…
Has all of society gone mad?
It certainly looks like it.
The sick feeling lodged deep in my belly intensifies, and I know for self-preservation I need to force myself to turn off the news and go to bed.
So, I did.
Maybe in the morning, I’ll wake up to find this election was merely a bad dream, a momentary blip of time and space that occurred while dozing off the night before.
Yet, I know sleep eludes the tortured—and in this moment there’s no one else more miserable than me.
Cancel that.
How about a million or so.
Women just like me.
I read somewhere about the concept of time isn’t really what we think it is and that sometimes we can slip back in forth between timelines.
Maybe this is something like that?
If so, please let me slip off into a place better than this.
Surely there’s another reality I can visit?
While tossing and turning, my mind runs rampant after finally getting into bed. What will this mean to our country? And what about the American allies around the world? How will this affect our future? Can anyone feel safe with this purported madman in control of our foreign affairs? How frightening it is to think that someone like this will have access to the nuclear codes and the ability to lead us into a WW3. But what hurts most is the painful erosion of my faith in humanity. Curling up into a ball, I weep.
I weep for me.
And, for each and every one of us.
This election is one for the history books.
As a student, I’d always been interested in history. Not the facts and figures type most teachers and textbooks crammed down our throats, but the real history that was curiously left out—and kept hidden by those in control.
That’s the kind of history I’m interested in.
Concealed truths.
Secretly stored away so no one could find them.
Hitting me square between the eyes when I first heard the idea, “history is written by those who were victorious,” I wondered. What in our historical lineage has been hidden or kept out of sight?
If this concept was in fact true, over the centuries the record books were therefore written by those in power who had victoriously won their bloody battles—and were therefore in position to control of the historical narrative.
This was certainly insightful to realize.
Learning this, how can we ever trust our history books again, when much of the real truth was left out—and the things we’re led to believe are most likely not true at all?
Good question.
Could you imagine some 500 years from now reading the history of what just happened in this election solely by the winning political parties’ point of view?
News flash…
Anyone can see by reading the “breaking news” stories we’re bombarded with every single day, just how wildly different and mostly untrue one political side accuses the other political side of being or behaving.
It’s all pretty insane.
When you really think about it.
If centuries from now we were only to have a written record of what the Republicans said about the liberal left, or conversely what the Democrats said or believed true about the conservative right, how accurate would it be?
Not very!
And that’s simply one example. We can say it’s almost as if we are living in different realities or in some kind of alternative universe, right?
Kind of like in the Marvel movies.
Is it real or not? I want the truth.
This is precisely the reason I followed my heart and left college a semester early to take an incredible job as an investigative journalist with The Washington Post. Who better to uncover truth than me?
This is right up my ally. Again, I want truth to prevail. I want to expose what’s wrong and offer solutions to make it right. I want the powerful held accountable.
It just so happens this job perfectly aligned with both my love of writing and an idealistic hope of cutting through the twisted lies in big business and politics.
Yep. Pretty naïve right? And, ambitious too.
Deeply distressed and still wide awake, my utopian hopes fade a mile a minute. Desperation quickly turned to rage, and an uncontrollable anger began to take root, which I feared incapable of containing.
If I’m being honest, deep down I knew those in power weren’t really looking out for me or the best interests of the country—but mostly made their decisions based on bottom line profits of big corporations and industrial complexes. Naturally, this left the little guy like me and the ordinary citizens of the world to fend for themselves.
Depressing, right?
The sad truth is that in most cases, average people are only able to feed off the remaining leftovers once the powers that be take their disproportionate share.
The rich get richer.
And, the powerful get even more powerful.
Restless thoughts crept in as this never-ending night wore on, forcing me to recall a time, in the not-so-distant past, when I eagerly took the first step towards making my mark in the world of journalism.
As luck would have it, the dream job of all-time had landed squarely in my lap—and right in time to be a part of the upcoming presidential primaries.
But, I could not have predicted the chaos our world would fall into only a few short months later. And, little did I imagine that life as we knew it would take such a radical turn into what seemed like the Twilight Zone. Remember that show is a cult classic? Never in my wildest dreams could I expect to be living in it now.
Having grown up in a middle-class environment with parents who worked hard, paid their taxes, and did what they could to carve out a nice life for our family of four, I know what “Main Street America” looks like.
My dad was a union ironworker, and my mom took on administrative jobs to help make ends meet. Gone were the Betty Crocker days when women were expected to stay at home to cook, clean, and take care of the kids.
It’s fairly common now, if not assumed, that women not only to do those chores, but must also have careers of their own in order to attain the real American dream.
Not one to complain, my life has been pretty great.
It really has.
Even so, I still reach out for more. Those who know me say I have a great sense of confidence. And, looking back over my life I must agree. Pretty much, I’ve always been able to achieve whatever I set my mind to do.
In retrospect, I remember many nights lying in bed and dreaming up the most magical life I could imagine.
I believe living a life of luxury and having great wealth is possible for everyone, and this capitalistic suburban gal wholeheartedly welcomes that idea.
Hell yes!!
Having a passion for adventure and travel is great, but doing it in first-class style sounds a lot better to me than backpacking across Europe and staying in hostels.
I love silky soft sheets and fluffy pillows!
And yet, there is also a deep knowing my life will involve so much more than that.
I have this inner drive and an internal voice that never allows itself to be silent for very long—always urging me to seek the truths in life that are most often overlooked or as previously noted, are sometimes hidden away.
Sounds pretty weird, right?
This knowing is the thin shred of sanity I hold onto deep in the night as I lay here in sorrow. Even if I again succumb to the fetal position while agonizing over this very much unwanted election result.
A result that shocked the world.
Mostly awake, but faintly drifting off at times, I feel like I’m floating between worlds. Two separate realities parallel in nature. One I prefer and one I do not.
By sheer force, I try willing myself into a reality of my own choosing—and one where I’m celebrating election results that finally usher in the first female President of the United States. It’s a hopeful dream where there is certainly more love and compassion in politics and where countries work seamlessly together for common goals. I pray for an existence where peacebuilding rather than warmongering is the number one priority. Is this even possible? If not, can two separate worlds exist at the same time?
Perhaps I’m going insane. Or maybe I did actually slip into a different timeline. If so, please slip me back. And as soon as humanly possible, I might add.
You may have noticed, I have an insatiable fascination and interest with concepts unseen—many of which blend aspects of both science and the unknown.
This brings me to the subject of spirituality.
Not one to align with the dogma of religious beliefs, I know deep down in my soul there is a reason and purpose we are born—and that quite possibly we have more to do with what our life plan looks like than most care to admit.
If this is true, then why have I seemingly slipped into a world experience that does not even remotely represent a life I want, nor is aligned with any of my core values?
Someone save me from myself!
But, knowing the buck stops here, I take responsibility for everything I experience in life is of great importance. I’ve seen far too many people caught up in the notion that circumstances dictate what they can have, or what they can do or be. To me this is a false belief that does not sit well with my ideas of why we were born in the first place.
Great.
This only adds to my feelings of despair as I realize how much of a failure I am. My circumstances did not create this, somehow, I did. Continuing to agonize throughout the wee hours of this very long election night, asking myself over and over again, if it’s true we have more control over our circumstances than most would believe, “then why in the hell would I choose this as my experience?”
A legitimate question.
Recoiling in disgust, I remember an icky story told by my Uncle Mark, a jack of all trades kind of guy who was not only an actor and entertainer, but was also entrenched in the music world for a while. Back in the day.
Mark said he and his wife, Annalee, were in New York City for the 33rd Annual Grammy Awards and went to a private party the night before in honor of music-industry legend Clive Davis—who had not only been president of two major record labels, Columbia Records and Arista Records but was also responsible for launching the careers of great artists such as Janis Joplin, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Whitney Houston, and Alicia Keys.
Keep in mind, this was a private music-industry party where many of the top artists were mingling about, when, as Uncle Mark tells it, down the grand spiral staircase comes none other than Donald Trump with his mistress, Marla Maples draped on his arm and acting like he literally owned the room commanding attention.
Really?
Who knows, maybe he did own the building.
He literally could have since his claim to fame at that time was being a real estate mogul. But his presence at this exclusive music event seemed out of place. This was before his Apprentice reality TV days, so as Mark tells it, the air of entitlement seemed a bit over the top.
It just so happens that he and Annalee were seated right next to Trump and Marla Maples’ table, and at a certain point in the evening, they were introduced to each other. Immediately, “the Donald” hijacked the conversation with an “it’s all about me” ranting attitude.
Thank you, but no thank you.
Later on, as they were about to leave the party, Mark whispered to Annalee, “Let’s go back to the hotel before anything else, so I can shower off the greasy feeling that guy gave me.” This story still gives me the creeps.
Assholes never seem to change, do they.
Fast-forward to present times, and who would have thought this same man could overtake the heavily favored and well-qualified female front-runner in the United States presidential race. Well, after all these years, it’s apparent his greasy nature certainly hasn’t worn off.
Someone needs to fix this!
Or, help me out of my misery.
Dad, where are you? Oh, how I wish I could talk to him about this whole damn thing. He would certainly help me make sense of it all. My dad could fix anything. He had a great reputation for doing that around the house. Want to build a treehouse fort? Let’s get it done. Problem with the kitchen plumbing? He’s got it covered. Carburetor clogged in the engine? No problem, just get him a wrench or screwdriver. These are the things I never worried about growing up because dad could fix anything.
Unfortunately, his passing was a tough one. For me, of course, but Mom and my older brother, James, took it even harder. None of us saw it coming. Just like the results of this election. It silently snuck up on us.
To be honest, my dad is probably rolling in his grave right about now. But if he were still here, I’d find comfort being wrapped in his strong arms.
He’d somehow fix it for me and make it all go away. I really miss him. Especially during times like these.
In the months leading up to his death, we became closer than ever. We talked about things we’d never talked about before then—spirituality, his love for my mom, and we even got to talking about my past relationships.
Some of my favorite memories were going on trail rides with him. I can remember one time, his horse took a quick left turn—and unfortunately, he didn’t. And, when he fell to the ground, his head hit a rock. Not hard enough to knock him out, but it left him with a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away. Make that one ear.
He had a banana in the other one.
Well, at least that’s how he described being deaf in his right ear. “I’ve got a banana in my ear,” he always said, when he couldn’t hear what I was trying to tell him.
But don’t let that fool you.
His hearing loss fell under a selective issue if you ask me. Sometimes he just didn’t want to listen to what I had to say. Still, I sure wish he was here with us now. I could certainly use one of his famous bear hugs.
Poor child.
The despair and rage continue their battle to torture my thoughts and destroy my gut. This is new territory for me.
Torture, despair, rage? My innermost thoughts are usually way more positive in nature—in fact they are pretty much my best friend and companion.
Now, there are only negative thoughts that stalk my soul.
So unlike me.
I’ve always been on a quest for the deeper meaning of life and love spending time alone deep in contemplation by reading books and exploring new ideas. Questions such as, “why are we here?” or “what are we supposed to do with our lives?” usually weave tapestries in my mind.
So, a career in journalism naturally sounded right up my alley. And getting paid really well to explore the deeper answers my innermost being was seeking?
Well, that’d be an easy “Hell yes!”
Lucky for me, it turned out opportunity came knocking quickly, and way before I’d expected it to. As mentioned, I wasn’t even finished with college when this job offer appeared out of nowhere. But what the heck, I was never one to follow the herd or stick to the rules.
Who needs a college degree to get ahead? Not me!
On one hand, this alternative was great, since there are no guarantees a job would be waiting once I graduated. Hell, it can take years of internships and pounding the pavement to even get an entry-level job in your chosen field of interest. Case in point, graduates often wait tables while they’re looking for a chance to dive into their careers.
Nope, not me.
And let’s not forget about the years and years required to pay off mountains of student debt accumulated just to get that piece of paper called a degree.
Then, when we finally do land a job, it likely falls short of the dream job we’ve imagined anyway.
So, when the opportunity arose to jump in and get paid fairly well to do what I loved doing, the answer was yes without a moment’s hesitation. I knew this was the right choice. I could feel it in my bones—which were vibrating at the speed of sound at the idea of traveling the world and seeking larger truths for the betterment of mankind.
Somewhat idealist, don’t ya think?
But being an investigative reporter for The Washington Post seemed like the answer to my dreams and was much more appealing than sitting in a boring classroom going through the motions and believing they were teaching me anything of real value.
Right?
Besides, the guy who hired me was young and decent looking, which made it even more enticing to leave the traditional college track ahead of schedule.
Ha!! Didn’t see that one coming, did we?
Yes, this girl is attracted to a certain kind of man. But little did I know then what I know now, or that would have been factored into my decision-making process for sure.
Wait. Wake up. I must be dreaming.
Donald Trump cannot be our next president!! Can he? Am I slipping in and out of conscious reality? If so, let me dwell on something else. Let’s flip the channel again. And, bring me back to what I love instead.
Yah, that’s right.
My career. I love my chosen career. And, I took this incredible dream job since it lined up perfectly with my personal motto of, “Why wait, when you can seize the day!”
Nice try kiddo!
If only I could understand what the heck was going on in the heads of those people checking off Donald Trump’s name on their sacred voting ballots.
Truly, what were they thinking?
Counting sheep may work. Let me give it a try.
Precious amounts of restorative slumber are rapidly slipping through my fingers, so what do I have to lose? But the ruthless tossing and turning only continued.
As sleep eludes my grasp, emotions rotate rapidly on a loop between shock, anger, and pure desperation. The questions torturing my mind hang in the air, like a circling vulture in the desert waiting on a dying animal.
“Did I actually choose to live in this reality?”
I begin to talk to myself as if I were disconnected from my body, “Madison James, can you find your way again with all the noise and chatter the world is shouting?” “Will you be able to retain your sanity?”
Pressure hit all sides of my brain—and in anticipation of the continued chaos this election continues to bring forth. So many questions run through my head for which I need answers to. And I want them now.
Crickets.
Even the crickets were silent tonight.
Knowing all answers lie in the quiet of nature, I willed myself to silence my merry-go-round mind.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
If I can just steal away enough insights together, like a string of pearls, perhaps my faith will be restored.
Finally, after hours upon hours of restless and gut-wrenching anguish, a glimmer of trusted guidance seeped into the cracks of my pain—and a tiny shred of hope re-emerged.
Faith. Hope. Trust.
The pearls began to string together now. If only I could have the faith like a grain of mustard seed, I could move the suffocating weight of this mountain right off of me.
If only I could gather that strength and tap into the knowledge of ancient times—a wisdom available to all who seek its treasures I’m told. If I could manage to do this, I’m certain there’d be a fresh perspective and a way out of the pain that is taking over my body as prisoner.
Perhaps then I could return to the sane life I once knew. Prayers be answered swiftly and efficiently please.
Was that a lone cricket I heard in the distance?
Thank you Jesus!
After an entire night of sleepless misery, I mercifully drift off to sleep as morning begins to dawn in the distance. But, not without first shedding a few more tears of grief for what inevitably might come.
And a third return into a fetal position.
To protect my tender soul.
- Madison James
[Continue reading Maddie’s complete story “In The Wake Of Chaos” as each chapter is released…see the “Previous” & “Next” tabs right under the Like/Share bubbles below]
I was one of the many women who voted for Trump in 2016 and 2020. In 2021 I publically recanted my support and in 2024 I freed myself from the Christain Nationalist mind control program. I have written extensively on how I untangled the chaos of the last eight years. Watched this short video this morning: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/9AfQnyuONmU
i was right there with u...curled up in the fetal position back in 2016