I have only lost my voice once in my entire life. I've had sore throats, lungs that decided to suck at being lungs, horrible coughing fits that landed me in the ER once as a small child with my scared mother trying to get me to let the doctor stick a nasty tasting tongue depressor in my mouth, but I've never lost my voice. Until this day. I had a sore throat leading up to it, my voice was starting to get scratchy, but I was calling a show, talking a lot, joking around with my friends, staying up late at cast parties, doing things I shouldn't have been doing with a scratchy throat. I've been in theatre and involved in musicals for the better part of a decade now. I should have known how to take care of my voice. But I didn't. I let my voice get worse and worse until I woke up and couldn't say good morning.

Unfortunately, that was the day I needed it the most.

You see, the day I lost my voice was June 12, 2016. The day of the Pulse Nightclub shooting.

At 12am Central Time, two hours before the shooting, I was leaving the theatre I had spent three weeks at rehearsing and producing a show. I was saying good bye to friends and friends-become-family as I cleaned dressing rooms, packed up costumes and props, and drove home. Theatre has always been my community, where I'd always find a place. (The year before, there was another shooting in the middle of a show. The Charleston shooting. We had rallied together as a show family for comfort and support.) I made a facebook post saying how much I would miss them and how I wish we could have 1 more show, et cetera. All the things you say when you leave a place you've come to call home and a group of people you've come to call family. I was so happy. So proud of my show. And when June 12, 2017 comes around I'll get to see that post on my TimeHop and Facebook Memories. I don't know how I'll feel about it when it comes. I went home and went to bed.

I woke up a few hours later, hoping to convince my dad to make me pancakes by making puppy dog eyes and quivering my bottom lip about my voice going AWOL. He was in the bathroom or garage or somewhere that wasn't the living room when I came in. He had CNN on. I saw something along the lines of "Orlando Police Chief makes statement on Shooting" I thought it was about the shooting of Christina Grimmie. Sad, but didn't directly affect me, I honestly had no idea who she was before I heard about her death. Not seeing my dad, I went back to my room and got my phone out. My friend had posting something about the #OrlandoShooting with the rainbow heart emojis. I was very confused. A quick Google search sorted me out.

I tweeted, as one does, out of anger, fear, frustration, sadness, and loss. "They're killing us." I said, "They are actively killing us, but gays have it so easy because marriage equality is a thing" Because The Collective They of Straight People That Hate Queers has been killing us for centuries. First for the faggots we were, not even worth the price of wood it would take to burn us. Then, much later, by refusing to acknowledge the existence of AIDS. (Looking at you, Reagan) Then by taking funding away from life saving medical research to fund conversion therapy (Looking at you, Pence) Now by actively shooting us down in a place we are supposed to be safe from homophobia, protected by the acceptance of our own community. They destroy us by erasing our history, the prominent gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans, etc people of our past are left out of history books.

I thought I would angry tweet and be over it, like I was for the dozens of other shootings I had seen before. Of course, I wasn't. I came back upstairs, my father had returned to the living room and I saw my community, my queer community coming together on TV. I broke down. I was sobbing without sound because I simply couldn't do it. My vocal cords were shot. My dad, confused, but concerned, rushed over to hug me. He asked what was wrong. I, unable to say anything because I was ugly sobbing and wouldn't be able to say what was wrong even if I had a voice, pointed to the TV. The statistic that we all know was the headline now, "49 dead, 50 injured in Orlando Nightclub Shooting" He didn't quite get it. "Yes, it's very sad," he said. "No!" I whisper-screamed "They're killing us! They're killing gays!" He held me tighter, "Oh. I didn't know that's what happened. I'm sorry." He let me cry for a while, held me until I was so angry I had to move. I started pacing laps around the living room, kitchen, basement, the whole house really, eventually getting ready to go pick my mother and sister up from the airport, where they were returning from a trip to NYC.

We left for the airport, I, still fuming about the shooting, but excited to see the rest of my family. Extremely conflicting feelings, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. When we were reunited, it was wonderful and happy. I wanted to hear about everything they did. I wanted to rant and cry over Orlando. I wanted to see pictures. I wanted to show them articles and facebook posts. I couldn't really do anything but sit and look and listen because of my missing voice. I couldn't ask questions about the Empire State Building. I couldn't tell them what was going on in my mind or my heart. I didn't know what to do. So I just sat there.

I'm the only queer person in my family, that I know of. So, they didn't really get it. They were sad so many lives had been lost. They knew it affected me. But I imagine they didn't know what to do, either. So we didn't do anything. I quietly mourned while chugging honey-lemon or peppermint tea. They continued to tell tales of their travels. I loved hearing their stories and I was so happy for them, but it was a hard day and I felt like a part of me had died inside.

I honestly don't know why I started this article. Maybe I was going to make a call to vote and contact your senators for common sense gun laws (you can register to vote using information here). Or I could talk about how minorities need to come together (I wrote and article on this, kind of, here) Maybe I was going to talk about the importance of family and honoring every moment (No shameless self promotion here, sorry) Again, I honestly don't know. Maybe I've just been thinking about it a lot and I've never actually talked to anyone about it. I know queer people die all the time. Trans Women of Color are being killed at ridiculous rates. These deaths are awful and sad and make me angry. I know all that (and it doesn't need to be brought up every time someone talks about this particular shooting), but THIS is the tragedy that has defined my life. June 13, 2016 I started looking for pride flags, buttons, t shirts, hell I started making a friendship bracelet that was rainbow. I have a pride tattoo, something I've been putting off for literal years. I am more vocal than ever about social justice issues because of that day in history. And maybe that's what this article was about.

I couldn't be vocal on the day I felt it mattered most, so I'm making up for it by being vocal now.