APOLOGIZE YOU MONSTERS

You've truly done it this time Sup Forums

m.huffpost.com/us/entry/us_583d2ae0e4b0bb2962f17854

>yaaaas...

fuck that faggot.

Asylum = safespace for Hillary supporters

...

That looks like Robert Spencer...it all makes sense now

Looks exactly how I imagine anyone wearing a yaaaas Hillary shirt would.

Fragile

...

Question, pol. Are people with the last name "Ryan" (Again, last name!) crypto jews?

I've always suspected anyone of having that name of being a jude.

most pleasurable thing I've read in a while. Delicious liberal tears...

>Note: Post contains sensitive content regarding suicide.

This guy's writing style is the worst thing I've seen. How did he graduate cum laude from Columbia University with a degree in English?

This has to be satire, right? I refuse to believe people like this guy exist in the world.

This article is:
>90% him talking about how he heroically shilled 4 Hill
>10% made up bullshit about "psych wards"


I GUARANTEE YOU this self-aggrandizing liar never stepped foot in any mental hospital. Why is this allowed?

...

jesus what a faggot
we really need a good purge

>late stage gay face

>I seemed to be the only garden variety anxious-depressive in the ward, and was probably the only one gainfully employed, certainly the sole Ivy League grad.

What a fucking loser.

Savage comments.

>Huffpo

Hahaha, fuck no I'm not clicking that.
Give us a screencap or a copy-paste.

>that shirt

he deserved the gallows

...

There are still men, and a few women. who aren't ready for a woman President.

2020 is coming.

> yaaas
I'm suprised he didn't use that pic where she's like 10

You actually memed "leftists on suicide watch" into real life. Impressive.

I refuse believe that bitch has ever baked cookies.

Note: Post contains sensitive content regarding suicide.

I found out Donald Trump had won the Electoral College while midstream in providing a urine sample for the emergency psychiatric staff of a New York City public hospital. The unlockable bathroom door in this unescapable wing was ajar, and I could hear the victorious Mike Pence’s sinister Sunday-school baritone taunting me with the truth from the hallway television.

For the preceding witching hours of election night, I had lain in a fetal position amidst a cast of anonymous men nursing their own crises, my hands clasped tightly over my ears. It wasn’t that I minded the howls of the guy nearby who was shackled to his cot and monitored by an unimpressed brood of policemen. Instead, I wanted to spare myself any word of the far greater insanity unfolding beyond the hospital walls.

Drained of tears, too tired to sleep, I stared at the fluorescent ceiling lights —which, indifferent to our suffering, remained on throughout the night — and endured the passing time by willing my thoughts to vanish into the dull glow. For a second, I imagined someone would burst in and proclaim, “It’s all right, Hillary won!” and I would bound out of bed, awoken from this nightmare.

This was all just a dream, right?

A while before, during the final hour of November 8, I had committed myself to institutional psychiatric care. A generation or two ago they would have said I was suffering a nervous breakdown: catatonic, plagued by involuntary jerking motions (my head furiously shaking “No! ”), speech patterns disjointed, weeping uncontrollably.

Terror drove me to this interrupted state. I was afraid for the nation, for the stigmatized and oppressed. I was also afraid for my own life. Because the values and principles I hold dear felt fatally incompatible with the hate and bigotry that Trumpism had come to stand for. I did not want to live in a world that would elect such a man as president.

I tumbled from quite the perch of high expectations. An official “Hillblazer,” I raised $187,000 for Hillary Clinton and down-ballot Democrats, mostly by selling tickets to events headlined by first-name-basis gay icons — Cher, Barbra, Hillary herself. (I was at the September gala when she dropped the “deplorables” line.) I canvassed in New York for our state’s primary and in Pennsylvania during the general. I phone banked, I recruited. To social media, I became The Hillary Guy, famous for my ever-buoyant posts and pictures about my candidate of choice.

I capped it all off by marshaling a rotating brigade of 22 out-of-town campaign volunteers during a four-day door-knocking effort in Philadelphia leading into Election Day. So feverish was my commitment that I embarked on the exhausting long weekend only a week into a shaky recovery from an emergency appendectomy.

Send him to Pence.

>adolfo

what did he mean by this

>Yaaaas
What the fuck does this even mean, what context, is this some normies substitute of word yes or something?

What is "yaaas" supposed to mean? Some gay yes?

>I could hear the victorious Mike Pence’s sinister Sunday-school baritone taunting me

wew

The sight of the huddled masses of party-goers stooped nervously over their cell phones was so unbearably foreboding, I escaped into a stairwell. There, the past year of my life caught up with me: the sudden death of my dearest friend’s fiancé, followed by the sudden death of my dearest cousin’s husband; my broken heart over a guy who didn’t share my feelings for him; a hobbling sports injury; the steady march of deadlines in my work as a science journalist; chronic migraines; major abdominal surgery; and of course the gnawing stress of the presidential campaign, ever driven by the fear that an unhinged demagogue would rise to power.

I texted a flare to my friend and plus-one, Sean, who soon appeared in the stairwell and cradled me in my hysterics. We kept in touch with a therapist friend of mine, Austin, through phone and text. Austin strongly urged me to leave the party. Hearing that I was suicidal, he proposed that I have myself committed.

Sean and I were among the first to leave the Javits Center — we fled, really — at about 10:30 that evening. I couldn’t bear to see the party devolve into a wake.

By around four o’clock the following morning, I was so lonesome in my emergency psych wing cot, I got up to see if the man sitting over by the dreaded television would talk to me. He spoke of his attempt to hang himself and of his struggles with heroin addiction, with trying to make it as an artist, with paying his ever-increasing rent. His bitter eyes were glazed from three sleepless nights, his hair greasy and matted from two showerless weeks.

>Some gay yes

pretty damn much

popularized by BuzzShit ingesting women, gays took it up too

good god let it die, almost as bad as the ermahgerd thing

god, reading that is so painful.

Its funny how the huffington post is nothing but a series of blogs.

It's a feminist meme that came from some gay guy telling Gaga how good she looks.

Broad City ripped it off and used it in a bunch of jokes. It trickled over to Beyonce thanks to Snapchat/Buzzfeed/Slate and now it's super normie, but just a cringe.

>I seemed to be the only garden variety anxious-depressive in the ward, and was probably the only one gainfully employed, certainly the sole Ivy League grad.

this trigged faggot just has to slip in a reference to how he's better than typical ""psych ward people""

A couple of hours later, they finally wheeled me up to the locked psych ward. As I wept in the hallway over the shock of landing in this prison of my own making, a baby-faced patient with thinning hair and a crooked nose gently reassured me. After I asked him why he was in the ward, he said he’d been hearing voices. Like the man from downstairs, he was probably a few years younger than I am—I’m 38 — but the cruelty of time had etched much deeper tales of hardship across each of their faces. Homeless, my new friend longed to get his SSDI check and buy a three-day bus trip back to his beloved birthplace, where life was better.

I seemed to be the only garden variety anxious-depressive in the ward, and was probably the only one gainfully employed, certainly the sole Ivy League grad. As far as I could estimate, most of the two dozen or so other men and women were homeless or unstably housed and largely suffered from psychosis.

The psych ward was the floor they couldn’t fall below. Or in political terms, it was the safety net. Mostly black or brown, these were the people at the very bottom of the totem pole, the ones Democrats strive to protect and Republicans see as a burden best left out in the cold. Even I, for all my fortune in life, was there among them in the hospital only thanks to the grace of progressive politics, with my Affordable Care Act marketplace health plan picking up the tab. (Thanks, Obama!)

I read that last night. weak people should find somewhere else to exist.

>I found out Donald Trump had won the Electoral College while midstream in providing a urine sample for the emergency psychiatric staff of a New York City public hospital. The unlockable bathroom door in this unescapable wing was ajar, and I could hear the victorious Mike Pence’s sinister Sunday-school baritone taunting me with the truth from the hallway television.
>For the preceding witching hours of election night, I had lain in a fetal position amidst a cast of anonymous men nursing their own crises, my hands clasped tightly over my ears. It wasn’t that I minded the howls of the guy nearby who was shackled to his cot and monitored by an unimpressed brood of policemen. Instead, I wanted to spare myself any word of the far greater insanity unfolding beyond the hospital walls.
>Drained of tears, too tired to sleep, I stared at the fluorescent ceiling lights —which, indifferent to our suffering, remained on throughout the night — and endured the passing time by willing my thoughts to vanish into the dull glow. For a second, I imagined someone would burst in and proclaim, “It’s all right, Hillary won!” and I would bound out of bed, awoken from this nightmare.
He describes his life in such a melodramatic tone that he must be a ragging queen.

Should have ended up in a morgue. We can do better goys!

I adjusted pretty easily to the steady rhythms of the ward. The only thing that surprised me was how much everything was just like in the movies. Figuring out the rules and then following them was paramount (never cross the red line barring the main exit), as was sticking to the daily schedule. There was the diverse cast of characters wearing standard-issue blue pajamas day and night, drifting about in a medicated haze. There was the high premium placed on snacks: the 11 AM queue for apple or orange juice, the mealtime pudding cups. (One woman nearly cried when I wouldn’t give her mine.) There were the 15-minute room checks. The hospital food. (Crystallized Sanka packets with every meal.) And of course there were the mini Dixie Cups the staff used to distribute our meds.

The other patients gabbed about the election with a mixture of bemusement and rambunctious excitement over the sheer lunacy of the outcome. They cracked jokes about Trump’s wall, and who among them would get deported first. The election seemed an abstraction to them, as consequential as the outcome of the latest season of “The Apprentice.” Washington, DC, is a world away when you’re living with schizophrenia on the streets.

TV really was the enemy. I dashed out of the common room whenever any political news came on. Otherwise I sat confounded by morning talk shows. What on God’s green earth did Rachael Ray still have to grin about? (Thanksgiving leftover recipes.) Why was Kelly Ripa, perky as ever, wasting her breath probing the actress who played Lady Mary on “Downton Abbey” for details about her summer vacation? It was all just so surreal.

I always thought it started on Black Twitter

By Thursday evening, I’d come to appropriate the other patients’ collective calm. (There were of course still isolated screamers among them, not to mention the pleading for opiates, and the paranoid woman who called 911 and claimed the staff was torturing her.) The empty hours, the complete inability to do any work, guided me toward a Zen state. I let the fear of a Trump presidency seep in from time to time—What if Ruth Bader Ginsburg dies? But mostly I looked for kernels of hope. Concerned friends and family who kept me company over the hallway payphone told me I wasn’t alone in my anguish, and that a wide network of others were mobilized to rise up and fight back. The world needed my voice. I mattered.

When I sat down with the supervising psychiatrist to talk over my discharge request, she broke the fourth wall, giving voice to her own anxieties and shock over the Trump victory. It was the first time I’d ever commiserated peer-to-peer with a mental health professional while under her care. I wish I could have reassured her.

Poetically, I was given my walking orders at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. I was now a veteran of institutional care — shell shocked, but on my feet.

“Don’t come back, Ryan,” a nurse admonished as I crossed the red line toward an uncertain freedom. “You don’t belong here.”

I know what she meant. My burdens pale in comparison to those stacked against the others in the ward. Still, I had suffered a genuine mental health crisis, and until it passed was a grave danger to myself. So I fell into a safety net.

It saved my life.

END OF TEXT

guess he wasn't smart enough to realize the other people there actually had mental problems, and he was just a sheltered wuss who can't cope with reality

Committed self because he didn't win and found out that not everybody shares his world view.

Top jej

I wonder what Hillary does with all the donations that are left. Can she just keep them or does she have to give it to somebody ?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Enough to have a breakdown and yet not enough to find out his policies for himself. CNN what have you done.

>The world needed my voice. I mattered.

This guy should have been bullied more as a kid.

Yeah. He misinterpreted "You don't belong here." as a compliment instead of an admonition not to waste medical resources

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>people legitimately flipped out this hard over trump winning
top lmao

Now that faggot can't own a gun since he voluntarily 51/50'd himself. What a tard.

Nothing of value was lost

Liberal men are the prototypical faggots, regardless of sexual orientation.

If only he had gone through with it.

This part triggered me worse than anything.

Tax free income. Just like Jill Stein is gathering.

>weak ass numale faggot flexing triceps

I'm more interested in why they let him out.

Pretty sure a gun would make him shit his pants.

This. The ego of this guy is astounding.

>not checking his white male privilege by giving the woman his pudding

>indifferent ceiling lights
Christ

>Hillary is a gay icon
She opposed gay marriage until her run this election

Why are so many gay icons gross old women?

Seems to me this guy is trying to confess to a series of murders.
>the only people who can use "dearest" without sounding like a fucking psychopath are elderly grandmothers, preferably British.

I'm sorry, we got it wrong. Should have been the firing squad.

I've always wondered that myself

>Yaaaaaas
CRINGE! Is he wearing this non-ironically? You have got to be shitting me. Is this the kind of person who contributes to HuffPo nowadays? That's some BuzzFeed level social autism.

Mommy issues.

Gays are weird with Hillary. They were the only ideologically liberal group that went for her in 08. She was rallying homos and "hard working white voters" from WV against nigs and swpls

Gay men have the selfishness of a woman combined with the drive of a man, albeit a twisted drive. Common Filth does a good job breaking down the homosexual psyche.

fuck off huffiington post shills, I'm not interested in your clickbait satire for anti sjws.

The massive faggotry of it all

Nah it was a gay thing. It got appropriated by, like this guy said, buzzfeed ingesting normies. Some gays are actually kind of mad about it haha.

>So feverish was my commitment
This

They were all in on this. Hillary was going to be their lady in Washington. She was going to raise a pride flag on the White house, she was going to put equal wage laws for womyn across the country and she was going to shut down the online trolls.

But not anymore.

He most likely is a legit immigrant who voted Trump or took the Election on the Chin like an adult despite having Hillary lost.

>"I bounded into the space at 6 o’clock in a frolic of an outfit: a red belt, white skinny jeans, and a blue Hillary-as-Rosie-the-Riveter T-shirt, my hair lavishly coiffed into a confident pompadour."

I think it might be a gay

Trump is as just as pro LGBT as Hillary would have been. In fact Hillary would have imported Refugees which would lead to victimization of that group that person was a part of. If anything, that crowd dodged a bullet with Trump in office.

> what are "fag hags"

Perfect mate, we'll call em asylums. They have ovens, right? Problem solved.
>cries about being put in camps
But it's not a camp love, it's an asylum. Full of safe space.

>the comments
>every fucking time

...

No wonder this fag is gay, he is constantly trying to sit on his own dick.

Trump isn't a self-hating closet lesbian and doesn't support the people that support tossing gays off buildings.

>literally

>The other patients gabbed about the election with a mixture of bemusement and rambunctious excitement over the sheer lunacy of the outcome. They cracked jokes about Trump’s wall, and who among them would get deported first.

>Getting memed on by actual mental cases

Makes me wonder if some of them post here

i like how the nurse basically called him a bitch at the end and he walked away thinking "yuss, pysch ward! victimhood achievement unlocked"

Hella gay.

So why are we shitposting on a siberian lizard board? When does Poland become stronk?

Honestly, I wouldn't doubt Clinton spent all the money she raised. Supposedly that stage she set up and never used cost $3 million.

>Hillary is a "gay icon".

Jesus Christ.

>2020 is coming

Man, are you psychic or what?

Shame to have wasted all those victory fireworks, though.

>too tired to sleep

3rd grader attempt to sound poetic

Nope. Or at least, not directly. Money donated to campaigns cannot be used for personal use, though a candidate can be reimbursed for expenses up to a limited point.

Stein is not going to enrich herself with this foolishness, hshe is enriching the coffers of her nut-job party, in preparation for fututre elections.

Leftover campaign funds (though many campaigns wind up with a debt) can be donated to the party, or to charity, or held for a future campaign if the committee remains open.

Probably better not to mention to Hillary about the "donated to charity" bit...

>in a frolic of an outfit

"Use the right word, not its second cousin." -Mark Twain

>he was probably a few years younger than I am—I’m 38
>38

this is by far the worst part of the whole thing. A 38 year old man is still acting like this. A 38 year old man hasn't gotten his shit together even after nearly 4 decades on earth. WTF