It started just like any other day, as most terrible days begin.

The previous day, a Saturday, I worked a double shift and was exhausted. I woke up Sunday morning and went right up to my mom's room to say good morning and she had the television on. The screen showed police cars and SWAT teams surrounding Pulse night club, and the lower third said "50 killed, 53 injured.” At first I thought how horrible it was, how high the death toll was from one single act of violence. And then, the newscaster stated that Pulse was a gay night club and that it was also Pride week throughout the country-- that's when my head started spinning.

When I first realized I was gay, I didn't really know what to do with it. I researched what it was (usually on Wikipedia, I was 11). Most of what I came across were stories of pain, heartache and death for all of those involved. Matthew Shepard's story was a particular one that shook me. I was terrified. I loved my family and friends, and I knew they loved me, but I was presented with this information that I knew could shatter everything. One night, I was looking at a magazine and all of a sudden a shirtless picture of Frankie Muniz running came upon the page and my mom was right next to me. She said "He's cute, isn't he?" and I worked up all the courage I had, put all my fears aside, smiled, and said, "Yes, he is."

Since then, it's been smooth sailing, relatively speaking. The only consistent difficulty was being understood by my peers. Very few managed to get through to who I truly was, and to them, I am forever thankful. I had the hardest time with a lot of guys that I went to high school with. I remember having this group of friends that I really liked being with, but they wouldn't hang out without me a lot. One summer, they would all play basketball at a court right down the street from my house, and I would find out from neighborhood kids that my friends were there without me. It wasn't the best feeling, as I'm sure a lot of people can relate. They felt like they didn't have to invite me because of the stigma surrounding gay guys and sports...that there still weren't that many athletes out at that point and I wouldn't be interested. They didn't understand that all I wanted to be was invited. I had supported these friends through very hard times, and yet they didn't want to be around me or had forgotten me. It was a very painful and confusing time, one that I do not miss.

I attended an all-male Catholic school for high school. It was a whole new experience, but one that I wouldn't trade for the world overall. I found amazing friends there that supported me as much as they could with everything. There were hardly any guys out during high school. In fact, I was the only one out in my class from day one. Time has gone by, and many have come out since leaving high school. There was one, however, whom I disagreed with on a lot of subjects.

Our senior year, my classmate decided to protest our annual blood drive three months before graduation. Every year students would donate blood to benefit the Greater Boston area, and we were greatly relied upon for that blood. His basis was that gays can't donate blood, so why should everyone else in the school get to? What he didn't realize was that 1. It would get to the Archdiocese before the Senate, 2. There were very few people who agreed with him, and 3. It was wrong to deny anyone blood if they need it, no matter gay or straight. Myself being the only other prominent homosexual in the school, I convinced him to shut it down, much to his dismay.

At this point, you might be wondering why I am sharing all these stories. It's for you to get to know me, to know where I've been and what I've been through. Granted it's not all of it, but they are the pieces necessary to be told before I talk about Orlando.

That Sunday, I completely shut down. I hadn't felt this much sadness in a long time, probably not since my parents separated. It was a heaviness that I can't describe. I didn't know what to do or what to think, I couldn't watch the television anymore. All I knew was that many of my people were dead, and that it was the deadliest shooting and biggest loss of life since 9/11 in American history. I was absolutely destroyed.

What I liken being gay to is like being a part of a tribe, much like Red Sox fans or the neighborhood moms group. A certain number of games are lost in a row or two out of the eight kids between the moms get sick, and you all feel it. I am sure that every single LGBTQ person felt that loss that day, deeper than any other American. I felt my heart skip 49 beats that day, and you know what happened? Not one person texted or called me.

Not one.

No one called to say "Dude what happened in Florida today?" or "omg did you see the TV? Are you ok?" When the Boston bombing happened, I got 50 texts at one time asking if I was in a safe place. When Orlando happened, nothing.

Now, I didn't expect the attention for my own sake, but I am most people's only gay friend or gay person that they know. I thought that they would want to know more or ask my take on it, but no one did.

I was so angry. I was angry at the man who shot up Pulse, angry at my friends for not calling me, angry at the world for what it was and what it wasn't, and then I realized something.

It is my job as a gay man with all of these experiences and all of these feelings, to help the people of the world understand what it is like to be gay.

As a member of a relatively persecuted group of people, with my big picture mind, it is my responsibility to teach so there is no more ignorance. It is my job to help those who have had a much harder time than I have with being gay. It is my responsibility to make sure people remember how far we have come as a people, and how further still we have to go. It is my job to go on, and to never lose hope no matter how bad things might be.

As a young, out, proud and gay man, Orlando for me was a reminder of what it means to be a survivor and a legacy to those who fought so hard to get us to where we are now. It's been two weeks, and I haven't lost that spark, nor do I think I ever will.

The day after Orlando, one of my best friends, Alex, bought me a shirt that was made for Orlando's pride month celebration this year. It's a black t-shirt that says "Orlando" in big rainbow letters on the front, and on one of the sleeves it says "#BeTrue", and that's exactly what I intend to do: be true, and help others do the same.

Have a great day everyone, be kind to one another.