A Men’s Mental Health Series — by Christopher Moore
I’ve developed this habit of running “sanity checks” on myself. It’s something I picked up in the Marines, reinforced in therapy, and polished in fatherhood. When you’ve lived through combat, addiction, toxic relationships, and the general chaos of American life, you learn real quick that the worst thing you can do is assume your head’s always screwed on straight. In the Corps we called it after-action reports. As a mechanic, I call it preventive maintenance. As a dad, I just call it survival.
So, every once in a while, I ask myself questions nobody else will: Am I losing it? Am I obsessed with this? Am I letting anger drive the car? These little mental oil changes keep me from locking up. Lately, the big one has been: Do I have Trump Derangement Syndrome? Or am I just pissed off like any sane American should be?
What People Mean by Trump Derangement Syndrome
“Trump Derangement Syndrome,” or TDS, is basically a political insult dressed up like a diagnosis. It’s what Trump supporters say when critics won’t let the man’s name leave their mouths. It implies obsession: frothing at the mouth, ranting at the TV, losing sleep over his existence.
The “symptoms” people describe are predictable: nonstop negativity, wild exaggerations, paranoia, and letting Trump dominate your headspace until you’re defined by your hatred of him. I’ve seen people like that. Some can’t get through a single meal without launching into how Trump is single-handedly ending democracy. It’s not politics anymore—it’s identity. That’s dangerous ground for anyone’s mental health.
And it forced me to ask: Is that me?
Running the Self-Diagnostic
This is where I fall back on the Marine habit. Break it down, line by line, no sugarcoating.
Checkpoint 1: Intense emotional hostility.
Yeah, I don’t like the guy. He represents everything I’ve fought against—ego, corruption, abuse of power. But do I let him camp out rent-free in my brain? No. He doesn’t keep me from eating breakfast or sleeping at night. He just pisses me off when he opens his mouth, which is every five minutes. That’s not obsession—that’s a normal human reaction to nonsense.
Checkpoint 2: Automatic dismissal.
Do I reject everything he did? No. Some policies had merit, even if by accident. But I’m not going to pretend competence where there wasn’t any. If refusing to hand out participation trophies is “derangement,” then maybe I’m guilty. But to me, that’s discernment.
Checkpoint 3: Hyperbolic statements.
I’ve called him a circus clown, a wannabe mob boss, and a guy who couldn’t run a lemonade stand without filing bankruptcy. Is that hyperbole? Maybe. But how else do you describe a man who treats governing like reality TV? Sometimes sarcasm is the only way to survive it.
Checkpoint 4: Conspiratorial thinking.
This one I dodge completely. I don’t need shadowy cabals to explain Trump. The dysfunction is already in plain sight. He’s transparent in his chaos. No need to add aliens or lizard people.
Checkpoint 5: Estrangement and identity shifts.
Do I let Trump define me? Hell no. I don’t cut people out of my life for voting red or blue. I’ve argued with friends, rolled my eyes at family, and shaken my head at coworkers, but I don’t exile people. That’s cult behavior, and I already left a cult once—it was called addiction.
Running that checklist, I came out clean. Turns out, I loathe all politicians equally. Which meant the diagnosis wasn’t TDS.
The Flip Side: Trump Worship Syndrome
If TDS is irrational hate, then the mirror is irrational love. Call it Trump Saviorism or Trump Simp Syndrome or Carrot Cock Love. These are the folks who excuse everything from pedophilia to genocide, twist logic into pretzels, and treat him like a golden calf.
I’ve seen this first-hand. Guys at the shop who’ll swear he’s playing “4D chess” while he can’t string together a coherent sentence. People who treat him like Moses parting the swamp. That’s not loyalty—it’s emotional dependency. They’ve built their self-worth around his survival, and that’s just as mentally unhealthy as obsession.
Both extremes—haters and worshippers—are missing the point. Politics isn’t supposed to be religion.
Why Politics Hijacks Our Brains
Here’s where the psychology comes in. Bias isn’t just about who you vote for—it’s how your brain is wired to protect your ego. Confirmation bias keeps us hugging information that flatters us. Social identity theory makes us loyal to our tribe. Emotions like fear and anger act like fuel on the fire.
Neuroscience even shows conservative and liberal brains literally light up differently to the same political stimulus. We’re not just arguing opinions—we’re arguing different operating systems. No wonder it feels impossible to persuade anyone.
The Mental Health Toll
It’s not just noise. It wrecks people’s heads. Studies show up to 40% of Americans feel anxiety and stress directly from politics. That’s insomnia, fatigue, blood pressure spikes, and depression—not theoretical, but measurable fallout.
I’ve seen it in my own house. My kids will catch me sighing at the news. That’s when I realize—if I let politics eat my peace, I’m handing down stress like a family heirloom. I want my kids to inherit resilience, not rage.
Some family gatherings turn into Cold War standoffs. Friendships snap over Facebook memes. People ghost relatives just to avoid arguments. That isolation is poison. And if you’re already struggling—like vets with PTSD, addicts in recovery, or folks barely making rent—the political climate is just another boot on your chest.
The Media Megaphone
Then there’s media and social networks. They don’t just report—they inflame. Outrage gets clicks. Anger keeps you scrolling. Algorithms shove you deeper into your corner until you’re convinced half the country is insane.
As a mechanic, I’d compare it to a warped cylinder head. No matter how many gaskets you replace, the leak keeps coming back. The real problem isn’t the people screaming—it’s the system that keeps warping reality for profit.
Final Assessment: My Sanity Is Intact
After running this full self-check, here’s the truth: I don’t have Trump Derangement Syndrome. I don’t even have the opposite. What I have is disgust. Not at Trump—he’s just one loud symptom. My disgust is aimed at American apathy.
I write about Trump often, but not because I’m obsessed. It’s because he won’t shut up, and he keeps handing me material like a late-night comedian’s dream. He’s a bottomless well of dysfunction, and ignoring him would mean ignoring the chaos he represents.
But obsession? No. My frustration runs deeper. I’m pissed at a culture that shrugs its shoulders at corruption, that waves flags while ignoring rights being stripped, that would rather binge Netflix than demand accountability.
That’s not obsession. That’s maintenance. That’s me making sure I haven’t gone blind to the rot.
So no, I’m not deranged. I’m not obsessed. I’m disgusted. And disgust, unlike obsession, keeps you honest.
Listen up—one of the biggest lies shoved down men’s throats is that “anger is bad.” Bullshit. Anger isn’t bad. What’s bad is when you don’t know how to handle it, and it comes out sideways—fists flying, stupid decisions, wreckage everywhere. That’s the problem. That’s the part you’ve gotta chain down and learn to steer.
Anger itself? It’s fuel. Pure octane. You can’t fix your head while pretending you’re some zen monk with no emotions. That’s not healing—that’s denial. And denial is just a ticking bomb waiting to go off.
The trick is turning that spark into horsepower. Taking that pissed-off energy and running it through something useful—work, training, building, grinding, writing. That’s where you start winning. That’s when anger stops owning you, and starts working for you.
So don’t run from it. Don’t bury it. Get pissed—and then put it to work.
-The Gun Loving Hippie Dad … Who Fixes Stuff
Entry Seven Coming Soon!
Keep reading
We've All Been Brainwashed
Checking the beliefs we think are entirely our own.
Belonging Is Not a Virtue
The difference between independent thought and team loyalty.
Read the complete journal in order: The Battle Inside.
