Diary of the Modern Man

I’m so happy he is dead. No longer will I be tortured. Every time I wanted to have my own opinion. Every time I wanted to vote based on my own ideas. Every time I wanted to represent those in my district, those in my state who are struggling. He would stand in my way. I knew how I felt was archaic for someone in my position, but I’ve always held on to the naive notion that being a true force for good was still possible in government. Regardless, I had to constantly fight the desire to stand up for the people who I was tasked with serving. I usually fell in line without any threats or extreme action needing to be taken, because I had learned long ago that resisting him was futile. The thing is, it wasn’t just him. He was just the representative of the larger group that I thought only existed in the heads of crazy fringe conspiracy theorists. That was before I experienced it myself.

When I did resist, however, I would be visited within 24 hours. I would fight. I would thrash. I would do whatever I thought I could. At one point I spent an entire day in a Walmart trying to stay in a public place to avoid being taken by his handlers. No matter what I tried I was eventually drugged, taken to an undisclosed location, tied to a waist high bench by my wrists and my neck, and displayed for all to see with my pants around my ankles. When I finally woke up he would rape me until my spirit broke.

What’s worse is it wasn’t just me. I wasn’t the only one who had to endure the pain and punishment of my defiance. I would often have to drive my daughter to his office late in the night, otherwise they threatened to kill her and my whole family. They made me watch while they drugged her. They would caress her, stroke her hair and speak sweet nothings to her as the drugs made her fall asleep. I was required to be there to make her feel safe, and she never knew what was coming next. The only thing she knew is that for a few days afterwards she would constantly complain to me and mommy about her butt hurting.

My wife doesn’t know, and my daughter never remembers what happens after I take her. My wife suspects something is wrong and she knows things must be done, but she doesn’t know the extent to which we are sacrificing our humanity to them. I have no choice. I can’t stand up to them because even if their threats of killing me and my entire family are hollow, they might call me out on Twitter or God forbid...they might even call me a racist. But now he is dead. Now I can speak out…I hope.