Post by Belgrade on Sept 16, 2015 0:34:24 GMT
Laying in bed at the in-laws house and feeling lethargic after a long day of family activities; I get myself up to go to the kitchen. I have to take care of this before bed.
This trip has really made me aware of my body dysmorphia as no one in the house is over 160 lbs and I'm a pretty solid 205 of muscle, bone and organs. It's always obvious when traveling to other countries. Most places that I go in this country, I'm the biggest guy there and typically in the best shape. Meanwhile, I'm on a strict diet doing a cut cycle trying to get from 14% BF to 8%. Public bathrooms with big mirrors are rough as everyone next to me looks small in comparison. I imagine them looking at me as I look at some guys in my gym. Jesus Christ that guy is big. Sometimes it seems like people just move out of your way.
I hover around the group until I can silently signal my SO that it's time to pin me. I head back to the room, telling everyone good night and, like clockwork, she arrives 5 minutes later.
"Which side did you do last night?"
"I don't know, it's your job to track."
I feel my right and left medial glutes. "Right side today." I adjust myself onto the bed so that she has access to my right ass cheek, hand her the alcohol wipe and hold the pin by the needle protector for her to unsheath when ready. Like the professional she is, she finds the muscle, uses her petite hands to measure the distances, quickly swabs and swiftly jabs. "That was a good one. Didn't feel a thing." I hope she didn't hit any scar tissue.
There is really a lot of silence in the time it takes to push 2ml of viscous fluid down a 25g needle. It seems to take forever; longer if you're high like I am now. It's almost all done, I can tell by the pressure. Here it comes. Shit. It starts as a little itch, deep in your esophagus. It's almost negligible. It didn't start until the end of the pin, shouldn't be that bad. Good night kisses and "I love you's" are exchanged as I hold in the cough as long as possible. I never told her about Tren cough. The itch is creeping up my throat, becoming unbearable. I make my way to the bathroom quickly as she disappears back to the group. The coughing begins slowlly and my throat tenses up, no more swallowing for a bit, so I spit in the toilet instead. My eyes are getting watery. The coughing escalates. I may puke.
The coughing is worse, but somewhat controlled, still spitting in the toilet and sink. I look in the mirror. Tears are going down my face. I think I inhaled some saliva. I let out a round of coughs as I watch in the mirror. Holy shit, my traps and chest look good when I cough. When will this end?
It's been about 2 minutes, but It's hard to say in high-time. The coughing turns violent.
Fuck, I may die this time.
How did I get into this situation?
If someone read my truthful story about dying in this bathroom from Tren cough, they wouldn't believe that anyone could be this stupid.
I start recounting how ridiculous it is.
You bought illegal drugs from an unground vendor.
You illegally had them shipped to you!?
You carried them to another country where they are illegal?
You secretly are injecting them at your family's house!?
And you're going to choke to death.
When will this coughing end?
How will it end?
All this risk, why are you such a dumb ass to die for this?
And just like that, it stopped; no more coughing. My throat still itches, but it's able to be ignored. I slowly wipe up my eyes, clean the sink, flush the toilet and hope that no one heard me. I pause for a second to listen and take a quick mirror check before exiting the bathroom.
When I see myself, I closely inspect my body.
"You are an undersized fatass. Time for bed."
I make my way back to the bedroom. The family is, apparently, unaware of my near death experience. I'm tired. I need to fall asleep before Tren makes it impossible. One more pin left for this trip and all I can do is hope that it goes better than this last one.
This trip has really made me aware of my body dysmorphia as no one in the house is over 160 lbs and I'm a pretty solid 205 of muscle, bone and organs. It's always obvious when traveling to other countries. Most places that I go in this country, I'm the biggest guy there and typically in the best shape. Meanwhile, I'm on a strict diet doing a cut cycle trying to get from 14% BF to 8%. Public bathrooms with big mirrors are rough as everyone next to me looks small in comparison. I imagine them looking at me as I look at some guys in my gym. Jesus Christ that guy is big. Sometimes it seems like people just move out of your way.
I hover around the group until I can silently signal my SO that it's time to pin me. I head back to the room, telling everyone good night and, like clockwork, she arrives 5 minutes later.
"Which side did you do last night?"
"I don't know, it's your job to track."
I feel my right and left medial glutes. "Right side today." I adjust myself onto the bed so that she has access to my right ass cheek, hand her the alcohol wipe and hold the pin by the needle protector for her to unsheath when ready. Like the professional she is, she finds the muscle, uses her petite hands to measure the distances, quickly swabs and swiftly jabs. "That was a good one. Didn't feel a thing." I hope she didn't hit any scar tissue.
There is really a lot of silence in the time it takes to push 2ml of viscous fluid down a 25g needle. It seems to take forever; longer if you're high like I am now. It's almost all done, I can tell by the pressure. Here it comes. Shit. It starts as a little itch, deep in your esophagus. It's almost negligible. It didn't start until the end of the pin, shouldn't be that bad. Good night kisses and "I love you's" are exchanged as I hold in the cough as long as possible. I never told her about Tren cough. The itch is creeping up my throat, becoming unbearable. I make my way to the bathroom quickly as she disappears back to the group. The coughing begins slowlly and my throat tenses up, no more swallowing for a bit, so I spit in the toilet instead. My eyes are getting watery. The coughing escalates. I may puke.
The coughing is worse, but somewhat controlled, still spitting in the toilet and sink. I look in the mirror. Tears are going down my face. I think I inhaled some saliva. I let out a round of coughs as I watch in the mirror. Holy shit, my traps and chest look good when I cough. When will this end?
It's been about 2 minutes, but It's hard to say in high-time. The coughing turns violent.
Fuck, I may die this time.
How did I get into this situation?
If someone read my truthful story about dying in this bathroom from Tren cough, they wouldn't believe that anyone could be this stupid.
I start recounting how ridiculous it is.
You bought illegal drugs from an unground vendor.
You illegally had them shipped to you!?
You carried them to another country where they are illegal?
You secretly are injecting them at your family's house!?
And you're going to choke to death.
When will this coughing end?
How will it end?
All this risk, why are you such a dumb ass to die for this?
And just like that, it stopped; no more coughing. My throat still itches, but it's able to be ignored. I slowly wipe up my eyes, clean the sink, flush the toilet and hope that no one heard me. I pause for a second to listen and take a quick mirror check before exiting the bathroom.
When I see myself, I closely inspect my body.
"You are an undersized fatass. Time for bed."
I make my way back to the bedroom. The family is, apparently, unaware of my near death experience. I'm tired. I need to fall asleep before Tren makes it impossible. One more pin left for this trip and all I can do is hope that it goes better than this last one.
