I have no carrots, I find myself no sticks. There is an abhorrent storm, raging within my flesh-an unholy war. I rail at God. I scare myself screaming at satan, I run from the house in a nightmarish state-I even think the unthinkable.
What impact have I made in the spiritual realms of Good vs. Evil?
What was the point?
Is the gun upstairs loaded?
For the past three years I have been fighting the good fight over this putrid, evil world. I had a following on Twitter of over 3000-many of them friends I kept in touch with on a daily basis. Some reached out to me with their personal stories, and many of us prayed for one another. Frankly, without my brothers and sisters on Twitter, I feel exiled; banished to the land of gloom and doom that is conservative censorship.
Last night I was notified that my account was “suspended.” I was not given a reason, I was told the case is closed when I tried to appeal this morning. They didn’t just suspend my account, they wiped it, clean. All of my work for the past three years is for naught, I have no way to contact my partners in arms. My small family of patriots is no longer available to me.
This account does not exist.
Google, Facebook and Twitter are censoring conservatives worldwide, and it appears we can do nothing to fight it. We are discriminated against because of our Christian belief system, which is, indeed, against the constitutional rights given to us at birth.
Wake up, Sara. You have no rights. You are but a cog in the machine, you don’t matter, none of you fighting the good fight matter. Game over, you lose.
It was 10:40 a.m. I procrastinated sending the paperwork to our new dentist; the receptionist was alarmed when I burst into tears. Whenever PTSD is triggered? You are at the mercy of your emotions, your very darkest and troubling thoughts. Trying to control the trigger is akin to trying to stop an avalanche with a twig.
“Please just get the paperwork in the mail by today, okay hun?”
I am sick, in my pajamas, and I drive to the local post office. I argue with the post master, she tells me to come back at 12.
“Please, are you serious? Do I look like I will be alive at 12 noon? I am sick, this shit has to go out today, please just two stamps?”
Her face softens.
You have change, right?
Back at the house I waste an entire two hours trying to beat the system and get a new Twitter account. Every avenue I pursued was a dead end, so now I try to find an attorney. I will sue their fucking pants off, that’s what I’ll do.
I have finally exhausted myself. I am too tired, too angry, too depressed to give a crap. I search the heavens for an answer and am given, once again, nothing.
My husband tells me I have rage issues, I agree.
I don’t know if I will ever get my mojo back. I am depleted, no fight left. I smoke some medical weed, and for now I am calm.
Life has shot me down so many times? Maybe down is where I need to be.
No fight left, not an ounce in me.
I wanted to help my president.
I wanted to raise awareness about the victims of SRA, and the ruthless monsters in our government, music and entertainment industries who drink their blood at whim, after they torture and rape them for adrenochrome.
I return to my exile in darkness. I pray for the babies. I ask His forgiveness~