In the aftermath of the Orlando nightclub shooting, I watched the news and watched the coverage.
The story was all about the victims, the survivors, the people who were traumatized by what had happened, and then how it had affected the survivors and their families.
There was nothing about the killers, who were described as psychopaths, or the violence that the killers had committed.
There were no words, no words that could capture what was happening in the minds of those affected by the attack.
There wasn’t even the words of the victims’ loved ones, who spoke of their grief and their desire to know what had actually happened.
A reporter from the Associated Press (AP) asked me to write an article about the mental illness of a man who had committed the deadliest mass shooting in American history.
The AP reporter asked me what I thought of the man and the killers.
I answered that I thought the story was good, that the perpetrators deserved to be punished and that I felt like the people of Orlando had every right to be upset.
“We can’t be sure what’s real,” I said, “because we can’t know.”
I had been a reporter covering domestic violence for a while, and I knew firsthand that when there is no real understanding of the perpetrator, or how to properly investigate a domestic violence incident, the perpetrator will do things that make us question whether they truly understand what they’re doing.
I had seen many instances where domestic violence is used to justify and excuse violence perpetrated by other individuals.
The problem with that is that it’s not the real perpetrators who are the real abusers.
We can’t fully understand who is really behind what is going on in the world if we don’t know who the real offenders are.
It’s up to us as a society to learn the identity of the real killers and to stop them before they get away with it.
I was in shock.
It took a lot of courage to share my story with the AP, and the AP editor-in-chief agreed to allow me to share it with a small audience.
The Associated Press, like many news organizations, had covered the Orlando shooting extensively.
We had all been there.
The Orlando shooter had a history of domestic violence and stalking, and had recently been charged with two felony counts of first-degree murder.
I did not feel comfortable sharing my story, because I thought that would mean that we would be seen as complicit in his actions.
I didn’t want to make a public statement that I would be ashamed of what had occurred.
I wanted to have an open dialogue with the community and allow others to make up their own minds about whether they believed the perpetrator was truly dangerous.
The response to my story was swift.
I got the following response: “Your story has caused a stir.
You are one of the few who have brought this topic to the public attention.
You should be encouraged to continue to talk about the issues of domestic abuse.”
I was stunned, and felt like I had made a big mistake.
I felt that this article, this piece of reporting, could have been a story that would have been shared widely, but instead, I was told, “We don’t want you to speak.
We don’t think it’s relevant.”
In response to this, I thought back to the time I had shared the details of my personal experiences with domestic violence in a story for my father’s magazine.
I shared my story to get a reaction from him, and he responded, “I thought it was a very good story, and you should do it again.”
I felt a sense of betrayal, of not being allowed to share what had truly happened in my own life with a journalist.
I thought, “This is my story and I can’t share it because of the reaction of a small group of people who think I’m somehow culpable for something that I did nothing to deserve.”
I thought about how my family was traumatized when I was a child and how it would be even worse if I went through the same trauma.
This is how I knew the perpetrators of this attack were not the people I had once believed were behind the attacks.
The perpetrators were not just bad people, they were people who had a mental illness.
They were mentally ill.
I asked myself, “What would I do if someone told me they knew a serial killer who had been abusing their daughter?
Would I stop reporting on them?
Would someone report on me if I had a criminal record?
Or if I was an undocumented immigrant?”
What I was afraid of, as a reporter, was that I might not be able to help.
I knew that there was no way to be safe, no way that I could be safe without speaking out about what had been going on with the perpetrators.
I feared that people who knew the real killer would be so angry that they would retaliate against me, that I wouldn’t be able, that there would be a backlash.
I couldn’t help but feel that it would