"Hey nigger, pick that up. Keep my streets clean."

At first, I wasn't sure what I heard. Then he repeated it, while his friends egged him on, beckoning me to pick up the ketchup-stained Burger King cup rolling near my feet. Usually, I can see this kind of thing coming. Growing up black in Indiana means learning early on how to steel yourself against aggression and keep moving. I used that skill to get through the last 24 hours—a period marked by equal parts motivation and paralysis. But this—an assault I've endured a hundred times—left me broken and weeping in a dark parking garage on the edge of a campus whose beauty belies its underlying viciousness.

I cried because my country declared war on me and my loved ones. I cried because I didn't feel strong enough to face it. But most of all, I cried because so many people I've cared for and loved, so many people I've considered friends, willfully cast ballots for bigotry, fear, racism, and oppression to assuage insecurities and pacify anger about a world quickly leaving them behind.

Wondering if this applies to you? It does. Please step out of my life (read: click "unfriend"). We are not friends. We never were. We are enemies.

I am done crying, and I am coming for you.