I'll be honest: I'm not sure how to start this column. I want to talk about the hate crime in Orlando that happened June 12. Nearly 50 people were killed and 53 more were injured at Pulse, a gay nightclub. I want to respond powerfully and intelligently to this massacre, but the truth is I'm just shocked and sad. You'd think that, as a queer person of color with a degree in journalism, I'd have powerful words coming out of my ears over this event. But right now I just feel flabbergasted that it's 2016 and this type of shit still happens.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so shocked, with the political and social climate right now. We’ve got Donald Trump encouraging the privileged men of America to be assholes and gun supporters going hard in the paint on Capitol Hill. But I admit I've had a comfortable and loving experience being not-straight in the South.

I'm from a town of 14,000 where my sister-in-law was the hairdresser for all of the black trans women and femme gays in the hood. The only cop I ever liked in my life was a short-haired female officer who proudly wore Curve for Men. All my friends were screaming queens and sporty lesbians, and I dated other girls openly in high school. Sure, people talked crap, but I don't have a single memory of ever encountering any blatant or threatening homophobia. Some other kids did, but my most vivid memory of hate speech in high school happened right before someone ripped the weave off the head of the girl who said it.

My positive and unique experience does not negate the danger that our otherness brings upon us as a community. I started going to gay bars as soon as I was 18, and grew up knowing them as happy, diverse and safe spaces. Bigger bars like Pulse always have a mixed patronage of LGBTQ+ people and straight folks just trying to have a good time. My stomach hurts with sadness for the people who were trapped inside during the shooting, especially Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, who texted his mom “I love you,” “He's coming” and “I'm gonna die” before being shot and killed in the bathroom. What did I ever fear besides a watery Tom Collins or a bad drag performer? Bars are not where anyone goes to meet their killer.

The killer in this case, Omar Mateen, doesn't deserve sympathy at all—no one who kills in cold blood does—but this act being perpetrated by someone who looks like him is sad in another way. Islam is a polarizing issue in post-9/11 America, and some people will use this event to attempt to legislate Islamophobia.

Mateen’s religion and skin are not imbued with violence or danger, but the world that raised him is full of it. He was abusive to his first wife and studied criminal justice in an attempt to become a police officer, which is terrifying. He romanticized terrorism and violence, and was on an FBI watch list for declaring support for the Taliban and suicide bombers.

But some Americans aren't seeing the influence of toxic masculinity and the glamour of war and violence on this dummy. Some of us are simply seeing another brown guy with a gobbledygook name brandishing a weapon and declaring his hate for America, so we think we better go out and get more guns.

As a bisexual woman I am mourning, and as a woman of color I am afraid for the Muslim members of my family. But as pride month continues all around America, I don't want anyone to be afraid or ashamed. The LGBTQ+ community has always been inclusive and protective, and that's what it's gonna take to continue to thrive and evolve as part of the global community. Keep each other safe, and don't be afraid to show your face.

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