Vern Nelson

Trump has been having a hypomanic episode the past 2 hours. Post after post after post. I count about 60 of them - mostly images, many of them AI. All his trademark pathologies; all his underlying themes: Malice. Grievance. Division. Entitlement. His gut is a simmering stew of agitation, rage, and desperation. His disordered brain is filled with paranoid fantasies of revenge alongside fantastical visions of regaining his grandiosity. He hates being trapped and stuck in Iran. He hates that Epstein won't go away. He hates being told his speech at the dinner was inappropriate. He hates that his name needed to come off a building. He hates that musical artists canceled from his show. He hates losing in court. And he especially hates his own mortality. Neither you nor I can EVER feel the kind of frenzied fear and fanaticism that Trump feels now. This is a man, who knows he's in his final chapter, who is confounded that he, all that he is, all that he ever said he was, his lifetime of secrets and lies and false constructs - is vulnerable to exposure. How can he possibly sit still? How can he sleep? Who can he trust? Malignant narcissists in decline always get worse, it's always messy, and they never want to go down alone.