Whenever I see a slur, my entire body tenses up. My brain shifts into fight-or-flight mode. My anus tightens, and I begin to shake uncontrollably. I stare blankly at the screen, a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. A shit slowly begins to squeeze its way into my pants, worming out of my asshole like a liquidized anaconda. With the shit comes the tears, falling relentlessly down my pudgy face, smearing my hastily applied e-girl makeup. Then come the screams. The horrible, horrible screams. My mother rushes into my room to find me comatose on the floor, surrounded by my own excrement, still clinging to my fancy new iPhone that I bought with my parent’s money to replace the 15 others that had been broken in fits of hormonal rage. You did this to me. YOU did this.