Subhuman232
Doing my best
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Title: The Gymcel Delusion – You Will Never Be Him
Wake up.
Go to work.
Come home, feeling like a zombie.
Force myself to the gym, because what else is there?
I tell myself it’s worth it. That the muscle will change things. That one day, I’ll look in the mirror and see something different. But I don’t. My face is the same. My structure is the same. My existence is the same.
The only thing growing is my delusion.
I see guys at the gym who barely lift, yet their presence alone commands attention. They walk in with hollow cheeks, dense bones, and good eye area, and suddenly the world bends to them. Meanwhile, I could be pressing three plates overhead and no one would care. No one notices.
Girls don’t see muscle. They see bone. They see status. They see genes. They see something I’ll never have.
It doesn’t matter if I bench 3 plates. It doesn’t matter if my lats flare out. It doesn’t matter if I hit single-digit body fat. My face will never change. My height will never change. My genes are set in stone.
I open Looksmax.org, looking for answers. But the answers were given long ago. Maxilla too recessed? Game over. Zygos too flat? Game over. Browridge too weak? Game over. You think gym will change that? You think a little extra muscle will hide the flaws of your skeleton?
You are not Chad. You are not one surgery away. You are not just a few years of hard work away. You are locked in.
The gym is the ultimate cope. It gives you hope where there is none. It makes you think the grind matters, that you’re building something, that one day you’ll “break through.” But there is no breakthrough. Only a treadmill.
Wake up.
Work.
Gym.
Look in the mirror.
Hate what I see.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Forever gymcel. Forever coping. Forever ignored.
Wake up.
Go to work.
Come home, feeling like a zombie.
Force myself to the gym, because what else is there?
I tell myself it’s worth it. That the muscle will change things. That one day, I’ll look in the mirror and see something different. But I don’t. My face is the same. My structure is the same. My existence is the same.
The only thing growing is my delusion.
I see guys at the gym who barely lift, yet their presence alone commands attention. They walk in with hollow cheeks, dense bones, and good eye area, and suddenly the world bends to them. Meanwhile, I could be pressing three plates overhead and no one would care. No one notices.
Girls don’t see muscle. They see bone. They see status. They see genes. They see something I’ll never have.
It doesn’t matter if I bench 3 plates. It doesn’t matter if my lats flare out. It doesn’t matter if I hit single-digit body fat. My face will never change. My height will never change. My genes are set in stone.
I open Looksmax.org, looking for answers. But the answers were given long ago. Maxilla too recessed? Game over. Zygos too flat? Game over. Browridge too weak? Game over. You think gym will change that? You think a little extra muscle will hide the flaws of your skeleton?
You are not Chad. You are not one surgery away. You are not just a few years of hard work away. You are locked in.
The gym is the ultimate cope. It gives you hope where there is none. It makes you think the grind matters, that you’re building something, that one day you’ll “break through.” But there is no breakthrough. Only a treadmill.
Wake up.
Work.
Gym.
Look in the mirror.
Hate what I see.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Forever gymcel. Forever coping. Forever ignored.
