It was not a scream of rage, but a quiet, architectural marvel. She had curated it over seven years with the precision of a museum archivist. There were 1,247 accounts in total, each one a brick in a great, invisible wall she had built around her feed.
Sometimes she felt like the block button was a confession. An admission that she was too weak, too fragile, for the marketplace of ideas. Her sister had told her, "You're just building an echo chamber." Her ex-therapist (Red folder, session 4) said, "Is it possible you're avoiding discomfort rather than growth?" twitter blocked list
She opened her notes app. And for the first time in an hour, she wrote a sentence for herself. It was not a scream of rage, but
She snorted.