To my best friends who support Trump,

I’m going to make this brief, because I’m sure anyone in the situation opposing yours could go on several tangents about the issue — so here it is in a nutshell.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016, approximately 2:30 in the morning: I hear from my intentionally closed bedroom door, “We’re gonna win baby!”

We?

Who’s that? Because it’s surly not me.

Nor is it the worried women, the scared racially oppressed or many confused scholars.

White privilege may have been what you meant as we. But sadly I still lost.

During that day, November 9, I experienced a fluctuation of emotions. The first, was indifference until I got to my first class of the day — ballet. I watched a class full of different skin colors, members of the LQBTQ community and various political upbringings cry for an hour and a half. To the point where after one exercise, we devoted class to sitting in a circle to discuss the outcome. There were no dry eyes.

I listened to my friends' stories about their experiences with conversion therapy, worries for their future and struggles with facing their right winged parents at the Thanksgiving table. After that I felt mad. I thought and thought about how people can be so inconsiderate to humans, human beings just like you. How? I was mad for them. And in my rage for others is when I found fear for myself.

You may not understand this next emotion, but I was scared. And although you believe I shouldn't be scared since I’m friends with you and don’t use a certain emphasis when I talk, this doesn’t excuse me from the fact that my skin is a different color than yours, a difference color than the presidents.

I can’t allow myself to be scared. Scared that the white man’s new justification for degrading me, is based on the belief that our president thinks it's OK.

It’s hard living in this divided house. But you should know that I’m open to understanding. As a journalism major I read up on these this, and I take pride in educating myself on concepts I may have overlooked or not understood. And on November 10 I decided to educate myself again.

I realize not every Trump supporter loves everything he says. I understand that the majority of his voters voted due to single issues, instead of everything he supports rolled into one. In fact, most didn’t support everything and even opposed some ideas. I understand that most of his voters aren’t racist or sexist considering he had a lot of women vote for him, and I get that this shouldn’t impact our friendship.

But here’s the thing. While I was busy experiencing my emotions that day, you only experienced one — victory. But it wasn't just that, it’s almost like victory in your mind meant a belligerent disregard for anyone who was feeling defeated. Running around the house exploiting your win was simultaneously doing the same to my loss. And honestly — it’s a little rude.

Here’s what I’m willing to do:

I’m willing to hear your side of the story. I’m willing to listen to your points, ideals and drawn up conclusions as to why this was the best decision for our country.

I’m willing to get hit with your spewed jargon only copied and pasted from a news article onto your tongue.

I’m willing to get burnt from the fire I feel inside while you praise a man who diminishes another.

I’m even willing to tell you, despite what you think, that I don’t hate the Republican Party.

But here’s what I’m not willing to do: take it. Don’t belittle me with comments.

“If you voted for Clinton you’re an asshole,” or “ How does it feel now?” or “Look who’s the ignorant one.”

This isn’t a college basketball roster where we voted on who would win the championship. This is my life. Don’t try to make me feel less than, especially when I go out of my way to make you feel understood. I’m not asking for your sympathy. Empathy would be nice, but I don’t really need that either. All I’m asking for is a little bit of respect.

But on November 11, I had ample time to think. I don’t like the decision we made, but I can’t change that. I can only hope that things will get better. Because honestly, how much sh*t can get done in four years? I’m not saying this ignorantly, but logically. If you really think, in eight years, Obama and maybe those who preceded him as well, made about five to eight large monumental changes. So imaging the next four, Trump will probably make about two to four. I mean I’m being optimistic here, but he has a lot of big ideas, and I don’t think there’s time for all of them.

Also, there’s a slim chance that not all republicans in congress even like or agree with him, so you can't say all of these changes will be made. So realistically, I do have hope.

I’m worried about people who think they can use Trump as a justification to act idiotically. But that’s all it is, a thought. It won’t last. And I believe my fellow oppressed and I will prevail. I’ll be ok. I’ll get through your comments, banter and ignorantly posed questions regarding my feelings. We can still be friends, because at the end of the day, I’ll overcome.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016, we automatically became a part of a history book 20 years down the road our family will read. A book full of sadness, triumph and preparation for a better tomorrow — and we just started chapter one.