Terrible things happen on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes, we are victims of a tragic moment, and sometimes, we are merely spectators. And sometimes, we are stuck in-between. Though we are only a spectator, we are affected in a way that makes the pain of the occurrence feel like a personal violation.
Two weeks ago today, the shootings at the gay night club, Pulse, in Orlando, Florida, had occurred. And in these past two weeks, I have utilized that time to sort through all of my feelings of rage, sympathy, disgust, fear, etc. No other murder of such mass proportion has swelled so deeply within me, and choked back my tears, since 9-11. I was saddened by the Boston Marathon, I was horrified by Sandy Hook Elementary, and I was appalled by San Bernardino. All were terrible tragedies, but Pulse struck my heart like a punch to the gut (just a little higher and to the right).
Why? I wasn't sure. Was it because it felt close to home because I am now a Florida resident? Was it because I am openly gay? Is it a feeling of helpless? Honestly, I still haven't figured it out, but I will go forth with the assumption that it is probably a combination of all of the above, and leave it there. I have opinions about the tragedy, but this is not the place to share them. This post is not about gun control or a political rant. I'm just taking advantage of an outlet I have control over and turning it into a therapy session and a place to honor all victims of Pulse.
This is the end. There is no real conclusion or plot twist here. Only that each story affects a person differently. It does not matter whether the story is true or fiction. And some stories leave open endings, and that's okay.