Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 35: can't stop yet

For the next few days, I pretty much ignored everyone at home...not that I talked to anyone outside of home, anyway. I didn't speak unless spoken to, I barely came out of my room unless called out, and I spent most of my time moping around. Because my parents believed I was at a photography class everyday after school, and I had to keep up that lie by not going home for an hour after school let out, I decided to use that time the best I could. Instead of letting that time go to waste, I figured, why not spend the entire time running?

Besides, it's not like the doctor said anything about using my legs, right? 

So everyday after school, I ran several miles around the school until it was safe to go home. My legs always ended up sore the next day, but I pushed through the pain and the burning, cold winds outside in the open winter air. My hands went numb by the end each time, but those concerns were overshadowed by what could happen if I didn't stay active. 

But it isn't nearly enough! 

I had to do something more...even if that meant adding more. 

That's right, I upped the dosages for my steroidal regimen, as well as the diet and health supplements. So now, I was not only using injections everyday without giving myself a break, I was also using the same dosage level as an adult weightlifter. As per usual, I had my own rationalizations for it. 

If I can't build more muscle by putting out more effort, maybe I can bulk up by putting in more effort. 

It made sense enough to me at the time, and that was all I needed to blindly go through with the increases. 

It wasn't just the supplements and steroids I added more of, though, it was also everything else I could manage to makeup for the work I was used to doing at the gym. I couldn't afford to put my entire life on hold because of one little injury and some squabbling with my parents. I didn't need a gym to keep up my gains until my parents came to their senses and let me have my membership back, and I could easily work my way around a minor injury. 

I wasn't just about to give up. I still had a fight left in me. 

Snapshot. 

~

Scrolling through my phone's gallery, I checked the timestamp on the earliest progress picture. I was a month away from my one-year mark, and far from the physique I wanted. Sure, there was a bit of a difference between then and now, but looking in the mirror with last year's photo in hand, comparing the me I used to be with the me I was now, there was hardly a contrast.

I still looked thin.

That's it. I've given myself a few days, I think I can handle lifting again.

It was absurd, but what else was I supposed to do? Sit around, watching all my hard work go to waste? Letting all that time, sacrifice, and effort be for nothing?

If I can't accomplish this, what can I do?

I wondered these things as I trailed my fingers over the same, wretched skin I'd analyzed countless times before.

I was supposed to have one of those inspirational before and after photos! I was supposed to be one of those inspirational stories! If I'm not that, what even am I? What was all that work for?

I looked for the differences between then and now, but the more I looked, the more disappointed I felt by what I saw--past and present.

There were some undeniable changes between those times; stretch marks from rapid muscle growth, acne breakouts from steroids, oily, dry skin from too much protein and not nearly enough water, fat stored in odd areas, dark circles, the list goes on and on.

Truly, those days, I was a walking paradox. I felt fat and skinny, big and small, too good for everyone, but not worthy of anyone. I was both arrogant and insecure. I was so sure of myself, yet so unsure, all at once. I wanted to stop, but I didn't want to quit. I loved everything I was doing, and I hated it all so much. I felt dead, yet I didn't think I'd ever been so alive! 

And because I was so torn in two, one question always lingered: do I even want to keep going?

I flexed my muscles, squeezed them, my fat, my skin, oddly fascinated by my own flesh. Grabbing a tape measure, I began doing my usual run-through of measurements. It became an almost daily thing, the feeling of knowing being more of what I sought than the actual numbers themselves.

I shook my head, swallowing the answer I force-fed myself. I didn't give up so much of myself for nothing. 

It can't be too late to become good enough. It can't be too late to achieve greatness.

~ 

  One afternoon, a couple days after the whole blowout between me and my parents, mom reached out with hopes of earning my trust again. I was too busy getting my usual after-school protein filling to take her words seriously. 

"I know you're still upset with me and your father," she began. 

No duh, Sherlock. 

"But we just want what's best for you," she sighed. "And I can't stand to see you hurting yourself like this. Do you understand?" 

I didn't spare so much as a glance in her direction.

"So please, understand that we're not limiting your exercise as a punishment, but because we're concerned for your well being," she said. There were some more words after that, but I trailed off before she could finish. 

I don't have time for this nonsense. 

~ 

Hey guys, sorry for this being a little later than usual.

But without further ado, here it is, in all of its mediocrity. 

Thoughts? 

What do you think about how determined he is to keep going? How about how he treats his poor mom? I think she's an underrated character. 

Teaser: one dumb decision leads to another. What will he do this time?