Written on June 15, 2016, in the wake of the Pulse massacre. I didn't post it then, instead choosing to participate by donating the proceeds of my book for that month to the gofundme for the victims. But I think it's an important emotional milestone to remember.

I don't know what to do with myself right now. I can't understand how people are going about their lives. The world isn't the same as it was last week. How can you behave like nothing has changed?

The news wants to take away that this is our tragedy. But what they fundamentally don't get is that the world is different for us. Fears we had put to rest a decade ago are back.

Our opponents ignore our humanity and their own to cling to dead things and arcane rules. They deny the blood on their hands; they twist the truth into lies to protect their small hearts and minds. So long as they are personally innocent, they believe their paradise is assured. This is a familiar place. We have climbed this mountain before.

They are going to lose, all over again. I wish that was still a comfort to me.

I am so angry. I have nothing but rage left in the moments I stop from my mundane routine. And that rage takes me from my thoughts, hourly. I did not know it was possible to feel this much anger.

Omar Mateen succeeded. He killed 50 people and injured 50 more, and he took from me the belief that I can ever be friends with someone across the aisle. For the rest of my life, I can never forget or forgive someone who took this week to cling to the cold metal of their guns instead of my brothers in blood. I can never wipe that from my memory.

If you’re wondering what it looks like to be radicalized, this is it. This thing, right here. I will brook no opposition. I won't listen to your opinions. I’m done talking. I will give whatever resources I have to whomever promises to get rid of your guns.

I no longer care what tactics they use. I no longer care whether they have my best interest at heart. My mind is full of images of you, with your finger on the trigger, killing 50 of my brothers. It’s full of you rampaging through an elementary school. It’s full of you worshipping the tools of death and spreading them across my country in a hideous and vain attempt to cover up your inadequacies and existential fear that you are irrelevant.

I will not stop until you are.