I,you,toxic

Siya's Story

Siya's pov

It's always been clear. I was never like the other boys. My peers would always see right through all the pretending. They could clearly see I was gay. I'd get teased at for my indifference, isolated from the rest of my peers. I was the conventionally fat ugly gay boy who got bullied by everyone. I was once bullied to a point whereby I had to change schools. It was really bad, and my parents took me to different therapists because I repeatedly attempted to commit suicide. I was not fulfilled with the life I lived. I'm trying very hard not to paint a picture of how bad it really was because it was really bad.

One summer, I developed an eating disorder; I'd go days without eating. I was losing weight very fast. My battle with food was intoxicating, my mind was a battleground between hunger and the desire to fit in. I was in and out of hospital for a different reason this time, not for my suicide attempts. The sterile, cold walls felt like a reflection of the emptiness within me. I grew found of those walls.

I craved the skinny figure, believing it would bring me the acceptance I longed for. But when I attained it, I was not given the flowers I thought I deserved but instead, the bullying got worse. I'd lost 14 kg within a matter of months. I was no longer fatty; I was now "Siya the skeleton." I felt more isolated, even other kids who got bullied, bullied me. A reject to even other rejects. That's when you know you've hit rock bottom. At 15, I'd already had 6 failed suicide attempts. My grades were looking bad; the A's I'd once attained faded to C's and sometimes D's. Those days were tough; each school day felt like an endless struggle against the relentless storm inside me. The only fulfilling fix seemed to be a handful of pills shoved in my throat— up until that fateful day.

I remember seeing the real estate lady looking less gloomy than usual on the phone; she had this expression that almost looked like a smile on her face. I don't blame why it took so long for her to finally sell that house; that lady is a walking definition of creepy. Hours later, I heard a car followed by the loud exhaust pipe of a busted truck parking next door. The nosy 15-year-old me ran to the window to see my new neighbors. A decent looking lady, probably in her early forties, walked out of the car, followed by a teenage white boy, looking my age, who was fixated on his phone screen. Caleb was his name; I found that out when they came knocking on our door, holding a freshly baked pie. Who even does that, especially here in South Africa?

Caleb was such a down-to-earth type of guy, and he was kind-hearted. The warmth in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice made me feel safe for the first time in ages. He did not care about how I looked liked. He was genuinely interested in being friends with me. We had so much in common; we spent hours talking about our dreams and fears, forging a bond that was stronger than steel. We'd even have sleepovers; who would've thought my parents would allow such a thing. Caleb was my first-ever best friend, but the happiness I felt around him was tinged with sadness, as I wondered if he could ever see me as more than just a friend.

Somehow I started to develop these more than friendly like feelings for him, but how was such an attractive guy going to be attracted to someone who looked like me?

This ideology of mine paved a path for me to want to work on myself, to look attractive for Caleb. I then mustered the courage to start going to the gym, eating healthy, and I to start grooming myself. With each step, I shed my old self, becoming more confident and comfortable in my skin. But deep down, the scars of my past still haunted me, casting a shadow on my newfound confidence. A year passed, and indeed I blossomed from the ugly duckling I was into a beautiful swan, but even as I stood tall and seemingly confident, the ache of self-doubt still lingered within me. Therapy had taught me the power of self-acceptance and resilience, but the emotional wounds ran deep. Even though physically I changed, doubts still lingered in me. Was I good enough for Caleb?

Girls started to show their interest in me, regardless of the rumours of my sexuality, they'd still approach me. Caleb and I became one of those duos of two attractive guys who girls constantly tried to impress. At least that's what most people said; I didn't even notice any of that, I was only fixated on Caleb. Weird enough, I was the one receiving more attention from girls than Caleb. I'd gained a bit of muscle, and I'd joined the basketball team. I was still very introverted, but I attended these elite house parties just to please Caleb. He'd always encourage me to get with these girls, and I did my best to hide my growing sadness, knowing that no matter how much I changed on the outside, the longing in my heart for something more remained.

On one particular day everything changed. On that day, he kissed me. He held me like he didn't want to lose me. He whispered his affection for me in my ear. In his eyes, I could see the reflection of his infatuation.