Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 25: wonders of the internet

The internet is an interesting tool. Over the years, I've learned that it's a little like money: it's neither good nor bad, but neutral. Sure, you can use it for bad things, and yeah, you can use it for good things. But for me, in the grip of my self-defeating thoughts, it was merely a means to find motivation, inspiration, and most of all, lack of self-confidence. There were endless Instagram accounts and YouTube videos filled with fitness tips, ideas for sets, and new ways of taking in protein. There were so many ways of finding the information I needed to get the things I wanted.

But that free information really did have a price to be paid, and it would cost me what little self-confidence I had left on a moment-to-moment basis.

Pictures of bulked-up dudes with biceps the size of my thighs, sweat beads glowing in the lights of the photos being taken, veins popping out of their bulging muscles. I wanted to be that. I wanted to have that body. But I didn't, and I wasn't that good-looking, and I wasn't that person. The reality of the matter hit hard with every image and video I saw. Minutes would be spent looking at a single person, picking apart their physique and telling myself what I wish I had of theirs but didn't.

As much as this brought me down, it also drove me to work harder. I used those mental images of those guys I wanted to look like as motivation to keep going whenever I felt like giving up. I reminded myself, as many times as I needed, of how I looked.

Well, at least how I saw myself. I know now what I didn't then: that I can't trust my own perception of myself. My judgment becomes impaired with a single glance in the mirror. I know that now. But at the time, I was too sucked into this unhealthy obsession, this toxic state of mind, to recognize how flawed my thinking was.

I would have to learn that the hard way.

~

My PCT ended mid-October, meaning I was free to go about my days using my natural hormone production. I was no longer dependent on an external source of testosterone, and didn't need to worry about injections and tablets. I didn't have the restraints of following a rigid time schedule or measuring the exact amount needed every single day.

So why wasn't I relieved?

I should have been grateful for the extra time on my hands. I should have been enjoying that extra little bit of freedom I finally had.

But just because I should have, doesn't mean I did. Somewhere inside of me I missed it. The rigidity, the secrecy, the spending, the needles, I missed the thrills I got from the things I don't like. But what drew me to those things wasn't merely the risk, but the reward that followed.

I didn't need them; I wasn't addicted. But it felt like I needed them. Like my life wasn't complete without them. Like I needed the juice to complete me.

Almost immediately after I wrapped up my PCT, I counted my money to make sure I had enough, went to school the next day, and found Aaron in his usual spot beneath a tree with some friends. This time there were two that I din't know. They were all taking drags from their cigarettes when I approached them; the strong fumes made that clear the moment I stood in front of them. 

"You need some more steroids for your sick family?" he smirked. 

Rolling my eyes, I sat down across from him, next to a boy who was in desperate need of both a bath and a haircut. "Real funny. You think you could get some more juice for me?" 

He cocked a brow behind the plume of smoke. "You're not getting yourself hooked on that stuff, are ya?" 

"You can't get addicted to 'roids. That's just stupid." I thought about it and added, "Why do you care, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be a drug dealer, or something?" 

This time, instead of one or two boys sparing occasional glances in my direction, all of them turned and looked at me at once. Glancing at all of their expressions, each gave the same are you serious? look. 

Did I miss something, or...?

"You think I'm a drug dealer?" He already knew the answer to that question. His demeanor changed to an annoyed one. "Look, I don't know what you've heard about me, but this isn't some episode of Breaking Bad. I ain't cooking up a meth lab in my kitchen, if that's what you're thinking." 

"No! I wasn't thinking that at all! It's just...I've heard that you sell weed, and--" 

"And you assumed that I must sell heroin on top of it?" he finished for me. 

Yeah, actually, I kind of did. 

He took in a deep breath of the secondhand smoke and straightened up his posture. I did the same in hopes that I wouldn't look intimidated. Well, sitting up, anyway. I wasn't about to inhale more smoke than I needed to. 

"Let's get this outta the way: I'm no drug dealer. So I take some of my brother's stash whenever I'm at his house. Sue me. Lord knows him and his meathead, frat-boy roommates smoke far more than they need. But let me make one thing clear: I'm not gonna make money off the stuff that kills you." He slouched back a little bit, as though getting the facts straight was like getting something off his chest. 

While that made sense, it brought with it another question. "Wait...then how do you get the steroids? They're not from your brother, too, are they?" 

His blank expression didn't waver for a second when he said "I bought them online. Easy as that. Didn't you know you can do that?" 

Now I was getting annoyed. "Of course I knew that!" I said. "But have you met my parents? They monitor everything that comes into the house--packages included." 

He took a long drag of his cigarette. "And I wanted to make some cash." 

Could I really blame him, though? 

~ 

I looked with pride upon my built up collection of supplements and protein powders. The pride only grew when I tucked the little case of vials and needles among the clutter. 

I was wrong about Aaron after all. He wasn't some sketchy kid willing to feed into a bad habit; he made that clear when he double checked to make sure I wasn't becoming dependent on anabolic drugs. 

Maybe we were more alike than I'd initially thought. I mean, people thought he was some sort of bad kid doing bad things, right? And if people saw how much time and effort I put into my physique, their first impression might not be all that good. But he was just a boy who wanted to mess around with his friends and make a few dollars, even if that meant being a bit of a troublemaker. And I, I might have appeared a little vain and egotistical, but really, I was actually bettering myself. 

Well, maybe. 

~ 

Hello, how was your thanksgiving? Unless you're Canadian, in which case, how was your thanksgiving a few weeks ago? Unless you're neither, in which case, how was your Thursday?

I feel like these chapters are becoming a little repetitive. But I could be over-critiquing myself; Nate's not the only perfectionist around here. Are they? Be honest. It's helpful when you give your honest opinion.

Thoughts on the chapter?

Also, thoughts on the new cover?

Thanks.