My Soul is in America: I Have a Roosevelt in My Head

Crossing the 2014 American Rust Belt, I became the most miserable low-level worker. My father died tragically, my mother is addicted to drugs, and I'm barely surviving at a gas station, always on the verge of becoming an unidentified corpse. Just as I was on the verge of collapse, a voice exploded in my mind— I am Roosevelt, the President of the United States who has been dead for seventy years. Is this a stroke of genius, or have I completely gone mad?