I hate going to the gym. Every minute I’m there I’m disgusted. There is no joy, all pain, and anger. Anger gets me through the damn workout. Anger at the world, anger at people in general, but most of all, anger at myself. I HATE the disgusting, fat face that looks back at me in the mirror. I hate the blob of fat that hangs over my waist (and it’s not just some stupid fucking muffin top, it’s a 50 pound chunk of fat and sickness). I hate that I can’t even see my own dick to aim at the fucking toilet so I have to sit down otherwise I’ll make a mess on the seat. I know people say, “gotta be positive to workout,” but the only fucking reason why I work out is because I hate my own disgusting body more than I hate dealing with the gym and people in general. That’s why. It’s not to improve my health, it’s not so I can stick around and be a dad for years to come (as much as I really would like to), it’s because I hate myself so fucking much that I’d do something I absolutely despise just to fix it. Frankly, if I could I would just lop off my gut and be done with it, but that’s not going to solve the problem either. So I go to the gym. Because I’m tired of looking like this.