I’m so fucking tired. Like, deep in my bones tired. You know that kind of tired where you wake up and you’re already behind? That’s my life. Every single day. But tonight… tonight it’s something else. Tonight it’s about the goddamn gym. I went to the campus gym today. Like I do every day. Or, like I try to do every day. Because if I don’t carve out that hour, that tiny sliver of time, who the hell is going to? My mom? My brother? Please. They’d just find another reason for me to clean up their mess. So I go. I try. And I wear the hoodies. Always the hoodies. Even when it’s 80 degrees out, even when I’m sweating my ass off before I even hit the free weights. Because my arms… my arms are just… not there. Compared to these other guys. These athletes. These dudes who probably just roll out of bed and lift for two hours before their first class. Me? I get up at 5, get my mom’s meds sorted, get my brother fed if he even bothered to come home last night, then run to campus for my 8 AM, then try to squeeze in the gym before my next class, then straight to work, then home to make dinner, then study, then collapse. There’s no time to be a fucking Adonis. But still. I see them. Today there was this guy, not even that much bigger than me, but his triceps were just… popping. You know? Like they were sculpted. And I’m over there, trying to do a bicep curl with 15 pounds, and I swear I can feel my hoodie just… flapping. Like there’s nothing underneath. And I just wanted to disappear. Seriously. Just melt into the floor. It’s stupid, I know. It’s just arms. It’s just the gym. But it’s not *just* the gym, is it? It’s everything. It’s feeling like I’m constantly playing catch-up. Like everyone else got a head start and I’m still stuck at the starting line, hauling all their baggage with me. I see these guys with their headphones on, completely in their own world, just focused on themselves. And I’m there, half-listening for my phone in case my mom calls because she can’t find her glasses again, or my brother needs money for "textbooks" again. I even tried to switch it up today. Thought maybe if I went to a different section, away from the big guys, it would be better. Nope. Just a different set of eyes. Or at least, it felt like it. I know they’re not actually looking at me. They’re probably just thinking about their next set, or what protein shake they’re gonna drink. But in my head, it’s like a spotlight. On my flimsy arms. On my too-big hoodie. On the fact that I’m just… not enough. And then I got a text. From my mom. She forgot to take her afternoon meds. Again. And I’m in the middle of trying to do a goddamn overhead press and my phone buzzes and it’s just… it’s always something. It’s always a reminder that I’m not allowed to just be in my own body, in my own space, for five minutes. I slammed the weight down. Didn’t even rerack it properly. Just walked out. Now I’m sitting here, 2 AM, supposed to be studying for a chemistry midterm I’m already behind on, and all I can think about are those goddamn arms. Those guys with their confidence. Their muscles. Their lives that don’t revolve around making sure everyone else doesn’t fall apart. And I just… I want to scream. I want to throw my phone across the room. I want someone to just take care of me for once. Just for one day. One fucking hour. But that’s never gonna happen, is it? It’s always me. Always.