On Being President

On Being President

I slept in today, but that’s okay because they like me weak. I think the word is pliable. Yes, that’s me: President Pliable! What a legacy.

I drank too much last night, and I don’t trust my doctor; he always has the pills I want but they never make me sharper or better, just softer. Nice guy, though. Always friendly. One more part of all the comforts and pleasures a man could ever want. I feel more like a king than a democratically-elected president of a constitutional republic, and of course…it’s good to be the king. I won’t even write in this diary about the nights I’ve had!

My better half grows more distant. I know things are amiss but it’s almost as if we’re on different paths, as if she’s pursuing something totally apart from me and I know that she is. Most of me wishes her the best, but a big part of me is jealous and afraid, always afraid. There’s the real danger of being killed (the history books were right!) and the dagger slipped between the ribs always seems to come from someone loved and trusted. I would post extra guards on her but I don’t trust the guards either. I don’t trust anyone. My only sleep comes from medication, and for that small blip of freedom I remain forever grateful.

I golf a lot, and the travel is nice. Talk about the first of first class! It gets old though. The food is always the same (I NEVER get to eat what I want, it seems. Dear God, would I like a Big Mac right now!!!) and Air Force One is a prison plane. I don’t like the way the Secret Service looks at me. If they killed or allowed to be killed (hey! I can be generous!) JFK then what would they do to me? And the military scares the living hell out of me, but that’s just the curse of being a Democrat, I suppose.

I never wanted to be an icon. I don’t even know what an icon is! “The first black president”, yeah right. I’m not exactly black and I’m certainly not exactly president. I’ve been told that people wept in the streets when I was “elected”, but I don’t get to speak to them anymore, ever. I hate that. I was able to sneak away from the Secret Service once…once….when I first moved into this lonely, sterile place. That ticked them off royally, me going back to Chicago. They allowed it but hated it, and never allowed it again. At first I thought they were afraid for me, that some klanner would wipe me out in the street. But now the only people with guns I’m afraid of are standing outside my door. Reminds me of the days when I said “to be young, black and male means to be in prison”, and I was right. Still am. The prison I’m now is worse than all the others, and the only parole is obedience. I’m a dog.

I never wanted to be feared either. I just wanted what I’ve always wanted, and what everyone I really know wants…to be loved. And no one loves me, at least that’s what it feels like. The kids look at me funny, Michele doesn’t even talk to me, and my friends aren’t allowed to even call. And I did this, all of it! Just by saying “yes, I can” (lol).  It feels like I’ve run my race, pursued my poor choices to their logical conclusion and isolation, shame and misery is my lot. There are times I wonder if I’m even feared. Nothing seems real. I don’t think I’m capable of love anymore because I’m so alone. If I could fast forward through the next two years I would, and the saddest part is that about 200 million people I call neighbors and constituents wish the exact same thing I do now. I’m so alone.

I miss my mother. I miss my father. I miss being normal, natural, alive. I remember feeling like I could be saved, now it feels like salvation is impossible.  I’ve been placed on the pinnacle and the only true reward I’m experiencing now is that I am denied the freedom to even die. But in my heart of hearts I look at the salvation of others and hope and pray that it’s real, that such a thing can happen to even me. I never wanted this, never asked for it, never guessed it could happen. I miss Hawaii, miss being young and silly and high and in love. I’m the leader of the free world and I love no one, least of all myself. And it doesn’t feel like anyone loves me.

If there is a God, please save me.

President Barack Obama

PS – I don’t mean to whine. I’ve got everything. But the next time someone hands me a speech and says “say this” I’m going to lose my freaking mind!!!