THE PAIN. THE FUCKING PAIN OF IT ALL

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DEAR FUCK I AM A SLAVE TO THIS HOBBY, AND WITH THIS BODY, MY BODY ACHES. I LIFT SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, AND I YEARN FOR A WOMAN TO LOVE ME, AND AS I AM ENSLAVED TO THIS LIFTING, EVERY DAY I LIFT, NOTHING IS GOOD ENOUGH. EVERY REP COMPLETED DOES NOT FEEL SATISFYING, NOR THE AMOUNT OF SETS I DO CAN EVER FILL IN THIS GAP. I MUST TRAIN HARDER, I MUST RECOVER FASTER. I CANNOT STAND TO BE WEAK, I CANNOT STAND TO SEE THE FAT IN THE MIRROR. I CANNOT STAND TO BE LESS THAN THOSE WHO FUCK PETITE CUTIES WHO LUSTFULLY STARE IN THE EYES OF THEIR /fit/ BRUTES. I TOO DEMAND MY CAKE AND TO EAT. SHALL I FAIL, I WILL FOREVER HAUNT THIS BOARD. I CANNOT FAIL, I WILL BREAK EVERY BONE, TEAR EVERY JOINT I HAVE, AND DRIP EVERY DROP OF BLOOD I HAVE IN MY BODY BEFORE I GIVE UP. FLAVORS HAVE NO PLACE IN MY BODY, AS I HAVE LOST THE LUST OF FOOD. FOOD CAN TASTE AS BLAND AS EVER, AS MY ONLY CARE IN THE WORLD NOW IS TO BE FIT ENOUGH TO BE LOVED, SO THAT THE TRUE INVISIBLE FEELS OF CRIPPLING DEPRESSION AND LONELINESS MAY FINALLY FALL FROM MY SHOULDERS, AS THEY WERE THE WEIGHTS AND THE SHACKLES THAT I HAVE HELD FOR YEARS UPON YEARS. STACKED LIKE THE WEIGHTS THAT I LIFT EVERY DAY.


AUUUGHHHH THE SUFFERING OF MY EXISTENCE IS THAT OF MOUNTAINS