Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 24: panic attack

I had a panic attack.

My weekly check for measurements and weighing let me know just how much gains I'd lost during my PCT. It was a lot. Even worse than that: some of the weight I managed to hold was fat. Where I was supposed to be muscular, I was skinny, where I wasn't skinny, I was bloated.

It's not a big deal, I tried to sooth myself. It's probably from going off the steroids, or it's a temporary side-effect of the supplements, I tried to reason.

It didn't matter how it got there, it was body fat, and water weight, and a body fat percentage that I couldn't have.

I lost weight, but I gained fat.

The realization was too much to take, so much so that I began shaking. After taking a couple minutes to catch my breath, I told myself to man up and do something about it, not whine and mope around, hoping it would change. It wouldn't--not until I did something.

I typed furiously away at the keyboard, looking through body building and steroid forums to see if this was all normal, but more importantly, to see if this was fixable.

As expected, it was a a consequence of my own actions, and now, I had to face the effects of my I want results and I want them now attitude.

Slowly, the realization began to settle in. This was my own doing, my own fault, and there wasn't anything I could do to fix this but wait. 

I rested my forehead on the tips of my fingers, trying to fight off this sudden wave of nausea. It wasn't just my stomach that was unsettled; the world around me felt amiss. I didn't resist the urge to go back to the bathroom again, locking the door behind me and pulling out the scale like I had just minutes prior. Despite my silent pleas for there to be a miscalculation, the same number came out and landed next to my feet. 

I tugged at the small hair trailing down my neck, like holding them tight enough would make my body stop trembling in terror. But it didn't, and with my pants and gasps for air growing heavier, it wasn't enough to tug at my air for support. So I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckle went white, bent over, tears and drool splattering over and on them. 

No matter how tight I shut my eyelids, I couldn't stop seeing the number in my mind. All of the numbers. The numbers on the scale. The numbers on the measuring tape. The numbers of how long it took to get to here. The number of hours I spent to arrive at this point. The number of calories and protein taken, measurements of steroids and supplements, time-frames set in place to prevent myself from getting to this very spot I wanted to avoid: broken. 

What have I done? 

Snapshot.

I wasn't home alone, but my parents weren't there to ask what was wrong. Neither was Haley. They had more important things to worry about than my vanity. Haley was going to college. She was living on campus. She was moving into the next chapter of her life while I was stuck in the same one. The same, self-centered one. She was moving out for four years, and my parents were saying goodbye. I should have been thinking of her that day, just for a moment. But I didn't. I was too busy freaking out about my looks.

I wasn't completely home alone, though. On the other side of that bathroom door, somewhere in the house, was my brother.

When I finally managed to peel myself away from the panic pumping through my veins and running through my mind, it was my brother who stood on the other side of the door, standing a few cautious feet away. He had a confused look on his face. A question, and...concern?

I didn't like him staring at me, though. "What?" I glowered.

He didn't challenge me, only walking away with his tail between his legs, uttering a small "Nothing."

I took odd pleasure in knowing that I could intimidate people. Granted, it was mixed with guilt for actually doing it, but it made me feel a little less small.

~

Photography class: that was my cover. Everyone at school knew I was no longer apart of the after-school class, but at home, that was a different story. Everyday I packed my camera with my homework and took it to school, pretending I would use it later that day. Some days mom would leave me off walking to school with a cheerful "Show me some of your pictures later!" I never did. She never saw any, because there were no new pictures. I hadn't used my camera in months. But she didn't need to know that.

She just knew that I was taking her advice that she gave before the school year started out. "Take it easy at the gym," she told me. "You should focus more on school this year. Your grades were starting to drop at the end of last year. It might do you some good to take time away from that place."

Dad only agreed. "Just try going on the weekends or something," he suggested. "Focus on the more important things," he told me.

Stupid dad. You don't get it, I am focused on the important things.

Nobody had any idea about just how important these things were to me. My gains were my life, they were my identity. In my mind, it was what I needed to focus on more than anything else. I was willing to make sacrifices to align myself with what I needed to become, even if that meant lying to my parents to get two hours in at the gym instead of one. 

I would make sacrifices to become the person I didn't just want to be, but the person I needed to be, the person that I knew deep, down inside myself that I truly was. 

I couldn't risk becoming that skinny boy again. I would risk anything else to ensure I didn't risk that.