March 12, 2014

I’ve been going to the gym near my house for a few days now. Being there has been lifting up my mood. I’m hoping being in shape would increase my self-esteem and make me feel more comfortable in my own skin.

I want a hot body. Like the one Stephen and those perfect magazine models have. I want to be that guy, that man. I want to become popular and fit in more. I want to be envied and desired. I want to be the center of attention. I want a lot of things to feel better.

Mom has been showing excessive concern about my physical appearance and the noticeable change in my diet. She thinks it’s unusual, and when I told her I wanted to look better, her argument was that men shouldn’t obsess about their bodies. She said it made me look shallow and unattractive. It’s funny because I don’t think she’d say that to my sister who’s always been in shape and maintained a strict diet. The only time she interfered was when Rosamunde actually developed an eating disorder when she hit puberty. Other than that, she’s always acted like her number one fan and approved of everything she did. Why can’t she be the same with me?

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