'We're living in a prison yard': Woodstock, N.B., residents angered by potato chipmaker

I was born in the late ’90s and grew up with social media. By the time I was ten, my friends and I were exchanging “new” internet slang and emojis on MSN messenger; at thirteen, I was sharing filtered selfies on Instagram and Snapchat. And while I shouldn’t have gotten a Facebook account until I was thirteen, I opened one when I was ten by simply lying about my age. Looking back, I wonder if I would’ve been better off without the constant connection—if I didn’t have to deal with the pressure to constantly update my Facebook status or the school bullies feeding the rumour mill after hours...