I admit it, my current reaction to last night’s election results is oddly disproportionate to the immediate force and effect of those results. But that admission doesn’t make me feel any better.

Without sertraline hydrochloride messing with the re-uptake of serotonin in my synapses my reactions to negative events cause chain reactions in my head akin to a three-stage thermonuclear device. I look at the election returns, particularly the under votes, and I spiral into an abyss of slippery slopes one more slippery than the next.

I read the national results sweeping spineless political tools, bought and paid for by billionaire “investors,” into office and how they look forward to “working with the president” all the while circling the wagons for the coming great conflict of 2016.

I think back to the doldrums of Dubya and  Karl Rove proclaiming  “we make our own reality” when questioned by a reporter, and realize today he’s a trifle compared to the dark machinery of the Koch brothers and others of that ilk. The breadth and depth of the money and power held by a tiny minority seems a four-dimensional creature only visible when it interacts with our three-dimensional world; mostly unseen, its tentacles stretching like astrocytoma invading healthy brain tissue.

My slope-sliding continues until I come down what appears to be the final chute, landing in a world of American capitalism run amok on a hideously degraded planet sporting a complacent population content in the fact that while life expectancy for the majority of people, including their own children, has regressed to the stone age, Roe v. Wade has finally been overturned or rendered inert.

There are my three stages of depression for today.