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Hi.

Don't worry, this isn't another lame-brain attempt to entertain you with a completely crazy story.

For those of you who don't know, my name is Toni Q. McAlister. That's not my real name, obviously, but of course, if I shared that, then you all would be able to track me down easily.

Anyways, the point of this is to share with you some of the painful moments of my life. Back in 9th grade, I fell quickly into depression. I remember plotting out my suicide and how I was going to do it. I was going to take a broken shard of glass on the bridge by I-16 and slit my wrists. I remember walking home one day and decided that this was it, that I was going to end my horrible life. I grabbed one of the broken shards when I was positive that nobody was looking my way (because some other kids walked home the same route I used), went down to an old summer camp by the YMCA and tries to cut my wrists open.

And for a moment, I thought it worked. I had some blood pooled in my hands, but I survived. Apparently when you don't cut deep enough, the slits heal over quickly.

After that, I got help. I remember talking to my guidance counselor about the pain I was going through. His advice was to write down my feelings on a piece of paper and throw it away. Of course, being only 14 at the time, I thought it was a little ridiculous. Now, five years later looking back, maybe he wasn't as crazy as I thought he was. When I started getting into writing, I thought for a long time how I was going to share the story of my life. What makes Toni, Toni?

Since that incident though, I wish I could tell you my life got 100% on track and that I'm doing very well to this day.

Because I'm not.

I don't want to commit suicide now, that much is apparent. But…

I can't say the thought hasn't crossed by mind.

A lot of stuff has happened to me in my life that cuts deeper than the glass shard on the bridge. Oh yes, there will be betrayal, tears, and other things that hurt if you're willing to read these.

And be warned, the stories I'm going to tell you in here are completely true. In every single way.

The first one I want to share took place after my suicide attempt. I figured this would be the best one because it was the first time in my life that I realized that the world could truly be against me; and the life was not always going to be easy.

Here is the story of my first kiss.

(play)

Have you ever thought you knew something about yourself, but you couldn't figure out what it was exactly? For me, I was different. Always have been. At this time, I'm that quiet kid who sits in the back of class and doesn't say a word. But there was something else too. Around 9th grade is where people start figuring out who they are and who they want to strive to be. To me, it wasn't that simple. How was I supposed to decide how the rest of my life was going to be?

Thankfully, this story doesn't involve something completely huge like careers and stuff.

This was around the time where I was seeing something else about myself…

I liked guys.

I cannot remember when exactly I started suspecting that I was bi-curious. Only that I was. And with Christian parents, one of whom is a Conservative, I knew that wasn't going to fly with them. So I told no one. I just pretended to be into girls whenever the subject was brought up. It's really not hard acting straight when you still like females. All you really have to do is suppress your need to admire the male body (which was not easy to do in health class).

It worked for a while. Then I discovered technology.

(pause)

Hold on, I know what you're thinking: There's a point to this long ass story, right?

There is. Trust me, this next detail will be crucial.

But I won't say that I'm proud of it.

(play)

I discovered the internet, to be precise. When I got my first iPod, I started getting into social media. Not Facebook or Twitter or any of that nonsense. Mostly just YouTube; watching funny videos to amuse myself and pass the time.

One day I was surfing the internet and discovered a website that, while may seem harmless, is a little bit weird.

I won't say the name of the site, but I can say what it was for: Overweight men. Or, in the furry community, we would call them “bears".

I remember signing up for it, lying about my age. Instead of 15, I was suddenly 18. I didn't think much of it, because there wasn't anything too terrible about the site. There wasn't any nude photos or talk of sex in any of the chats, so I figured that it was still okay to be on the site. As long as the only thing I lied about was my age. (Keep in mind, I was only 15 at the time and I was still completely innocent of life.)

So, of course, I talked to a few guys on there, got to know someone here and there.

Then that one fateful day where the story goes downhill.

For those of who still reading, we're about to come upon the subject of this story.

I remember hitting up this one guy, whose profile said they were in the same town I was. I remember exchanging a few ice breakers with him. Then he asks to talk on Kik, which is just another messaging app. So, I give him my Kik and vice versa and we talk on there.

When we exchange photos, I recognize the person I'm talking to: One of my classmates in my English class.

(pause)

If you're reading this right now, I want you to know that you may not have known at the time, I was a broken person, looking for at least one friend in this dark world.

So. Matt… welcome to your story.

(play)

I really couldn't believe that of all the people on this website, I would come upon one of my classmates. And since this website was specifically for gay men, logically it meant that he was gay too. Or at least liked guys; for all I knew, he may be bisexual.

After we figured out we were classmates, we starting talking a bunch. And he was a really cool guy, too. We talked about our families, our interests. To me, it felt like I had someone in high school that I could confide into about my private thoughts and feelings.

One day, we decide to meet up and hang out.

I got my mom's permission to bring a classmate over and she was okay with it. So, it was pretty awesome. First thing we did together was watch Insidious in the living room. I was nervous most of the time, partly because some saliva got stuck in my throat and I was coughing the first 20 minutes of the film.

When we finished, I showed him my room. Because we were at that age where showing off our room made us feel cool.

We sat down on my bed…

(pause)

If you're conservative or homophobic, don't you fucking dare assume that we started going at it with each other and had sex or whatever it is that you think gay teenagers did together whenever no one was around.

Because that's not what happened.

(play)

...and we talked. It must have been like an hour or whatever until the room went dead silent. Neither of us really knew what to do next. We were confused 15-year-olds what else would you expect?

The subject of kissing came up. I'm pretty sure he said, “So… you want to kiss?"

I said yeah, but in a shy, shaky sort of way. He grasped my hand, lacing our fingers through each other, we leaned forward… and kissed.

During those two minutes, I was more afraid than I was of bees at the time. And I was fucking terrified of bees. My heart was beating loud enough to where I could hear it. My free hand was on the mattress because I wasn't sure where I was supposed to put it. Was it supposed to go on him somewhere?

When it broke, we didn't look at each other. It was a little awkward. Nice, but awkward.

Neither of us really said much after it. We either sat there, staring at anything else in the room, or we kissed a little.

The kiss did eventually get a little more heated. By heated, I mean we were snuggled up lying down instead on in a sitting position and our kissing sessions were getting longer and longer.

It was the most exciting moment of my life. And it felt nice that I could share it with a friend that I could trust.

Eventually, he did need to leave to go back home, which was understandable because he needed to be home for dinner. So, we said our goodbyes, and he told me to message him later so we could hang out again. The whole rest of that day, all I could think about was how nice it was to have someone to hold in my arms and share an intimate moment with them.

The next day, I did exactly that. I messaged him on Kik and went about my normal life.

But something was wrong.

Kik has a feature where it tells you if a message is sent, delivered, and read. It was delivered, but it was never read. I didn't think much of it, he probably had something he needed to do. He would get back to me eventually.

Day two came by, and he still never even read the greeting I sent him. I was starting to feel a certain kind of hurt.

Day three went by.

Five.

Eight.

Then I knew: He was never going to speak to me again, despite saying we were friends.

Was I being used? Did he hate me now? Should I try talking to him in school?

But none of that happened. I couldn't speak to him; because he made it pretty clear he didn't want to speak to me or be my friend. I couldn't understand why, though. Why was this person who called me his friend, suddenly treating me like we were complete strangers?

I then thought, So this is what betrayal feels like? It hurts.

(stop)

That's pretty much where this story ends. There isn't much to say after that. In sophomore year, I would go into class every single day, and he was there, two seats away from me. It was mortifying; I dreaded going to morning class every single day, knowing that he was there.

How about you, Matt? What did you think when I was sitting there, and you knew exactly what happened between us and what you did? Did you still think of me as a “friend"? I use air quotes because you see the irony now, right? We never spoke one word to each other in the real world for the rest of high school. Whenever we saw each other in the hallways, I couldn't even look at you. You were my first kiss, which was great; but you were also the first real backstabbing I ever felt.

One that will probably follow me for the rest of my life.

I wish that I could say that we're still on good terms but… are we? After everything, I don't know what to call you. My friend? My enemy? My classmate who I never spoke to? Might as well be the last one, since clearly you saw it that way, too.

For everyone else reading, I'm sure you're shaking your head and thinking, Typical teen drama. Well, I'm sure you were hurt by someone you thought was your friend at one point. Weren't you? You probably felt the knife sink into your back, even when you least expect it. In high school, especially in freshman year, was certainly when I was least expecting it.

So, before you call this story simply another piece of teen drama, keep in mind that I've had it rough for most of my life. Remember when I said I was broken? Well, the next story will be about someone who has dedicated their life to breaking me until I finally shattered.

(next)