To say I didn't fit in at school would be the understatement of the century. I was a scrawny, punked-out 15-year-old kid, and a total closet baby dyke. I will never forget sneaking into a gay club for the first time with my older sister Audra, when I was just a gangly teen full of acne and angst. And an outsider came in and destroyed that home with the ugliness of hatred and violence. Pulse was a home, a safe home where people grew up and found themselves. I feel like someone has stripped my entire beautiful community of a home.
I had this unshakeable, broken feeling I haven't been able to identify until just a few minutes ago. Then came this overwhelming sadness that I couldn't quite place. But in the gay community, you don't need to personally know someone to grieve their loss.
Some I knew from the scene, the rest I didn't. Our community is small, and I was a regular on the Florida gay scene for half a decade. My first reaction was of course, debilitating panic. I was at a pool party in Spain when I heard about the devastating massacre at Pulse. The gay club is where I met the eyes of my first love, it's where I kissed a girl in public for the first time, it's where I cultivated my personal style, forged life long friendships and most of all, found my people. I, like so many of my queer brothers and sisters, grew up in the thick of the glittering, gay nightlife culture.
