Stuck on Stages of Grief

Or: Why I started a cartoon series but never finished it

The night of the election my emotions swung wildly, from disbelief to despair to fierce resolve and back again. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to fight, cry, bury my head in the sand, or just cackle madly in my living room as insanity once again overtook our country.

Throughout the next week I tried to get a handle on my emotions. There would be at least four years of hell ahead, and it’d do me no good being a despondent, blubbering mess as the world fell apart. As I sorted out my feelings, I noticed that I was going through something akin to the Kübler-Ross stages of grief. Maybe, I told myself, I could draw out what I was feeling in my cartoons, and, perhaps, use my cartoons to help me (and others) process the emotional turmoil.

The first cartoon in the intended series was about my immediate denial over what had just occurred. I felt lost in my own home country. Had we — had I — been so wrong about the nature of America? About the character of Americans?

Shortly thereafter, I drew my second cartoon in the series, about anger. Because I am angry. Enraged. Anger at those in my life who voted for Trump. Anger at the 73 million others I don’t personally know who voted for him. Anger at the majority of voting age Americans who couldn’t bother to get their asses off their couches. I had hoped that drawing this specific cartoon would be cathartic. I could release my anger onto the page. Move forward with a healthier attitude.

I intended to keep going with the series, and began working on the cartoon for the next stage of grief, bargaining. (I had vague notions about how I’d illustrate the other two stages, depression and acceptance.)

As I laid on my couch in the hours after the election was called, I told myself that if I stopped drawing editorial cartoons then perhaps I could get through the next few years relatively unscathed. I wanted to bargain my way out of the oncoming storm, and figured that if I gave up being an editorial cartoonist and focused my energies on becoming a children’s book illustrator or comics artist, well, I could keep my head down and my sanity intact.

That’s a helluva selfish thought.

I have illustrated two children’s books. My dream is to write and illustrate my own children’s books. When I left my last full time job in 2019, the plan was to spend half the year working on freelance gigs, and dedicate the other half to building up a children’s book illustration portfolio. Covid, a few layoffs, and a destroyed right knee put those plans on ice.

As I slowly absorbed the reality unfolding on election night, I had this notion that perhaps I could treat the election like a terminal cancer diagnosis. Every day, people across the planet sit with their oncologist and are given the worst news imaginable. Some start fighting right away. Others retreat. And some decide that a death sentence is actually a permission slip to start living life to the fullest, using what time they have left to focus on themselves, their family and friends, and the dreams and desires they’d always put off for “the future.”

Our country had just received a grim diagnosis. Maybe it was my time to start living the life I wanted to live.

That was my bargain to myself.

Except I still hadn’t gotten past anger.

I am still angry.

Notes for the intended third cartoon in my Stages of Grief series.

You can see that I started compiling my notes for a bargaining cartoon. But I would never draw it. I knew that if I did, I’d be drawing something that wasn’t coming from a place of genuine honesty. Not just because I know in my gut that I can’t bury my head in the sand. But because I haven’t gotten over the anger.

I honestly don’t know if I want to. I don’t believe any amount of drawing, exercise, meditation, petting my cat, spending time with friends and family, watching feel good TV shows or basking in sunshine can extinguish the anger I have. Just look at the last two weeks. We have every right to be angry. We all should be angry. The insurrectionists won and over 1,500 of them have been set free. That pisses me off, and it should piss you off. We’re in a trade war with our closest ally. We’re threatening Denmark. Bird flu is on the rise while our scientific institutions are being gutted. Air crashes are being blamed on diversity. A Nazi twit now has access to the Treasury and his hellscape of a social media site is being turned into state media.

I’m pissed off. You should be pissed off.

But while constant anger is motivating — especially when it comes to drawing cartoons — I recognize how unhealthy it is. There is so much more to this world than anger and Donald Trump and Elon Musk. The more I focus on them, the more I cede to them power over my own life. And I know how quickly I can fall into a rage spiral. While at a birthday party last week, a friend pulled me aside and for the next half hour they wanted to talk about how terrified they were for themselves, their loved ones, and our country. That was the fifth consecutive conversation I’d had just that day where a friend wanted to talk about their despair. I was so enraged by my friends’ distress that I actively started looking for something to punch or break. At a birthday party. Instead, I got schnockered on Fireball shots in an attempt to drown out the anger, if only temporarily.

Like I said, it’s not healthy.

I still don’t want to let the anger go.

Just as Captain Kirk needed his pain, I need my anger. At least right now. Maybe at some point something else will carry me through these dark times. I’m not religious. I can’t ask for a divine being or spiritual realm to give me comfort and strength. I don’t feel compassion for those who show no compassion for my friends, democracy, or the rule of law. My sense of hope has been drained. One day it may be replenished, and I look forward to that day.

I’m going to keep exercising. I’m going to keep meditating. I’m going to keep surrounding myself with family and friends and enjoying good food and reading interesting books and watching my favorite comfort TV shows while my cat Bonnie sleeps on my lap. (You should try to do the same. Especially the part about having a cat — or dog or other pet — fall asleep on you while watching TV.)

I’m also going to stay angry.

We’ve got a long fight ahead.

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