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I Am a Failure

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After a long and hard workout burning off a couple hundred calories, I take my walk of shame to the change room and step on the scale to calculate my self-worth of the day. I finish doing my 100 crunches and pick myself up. I find myself walking through the insecure people gym and to the change room. There's two gyms here. The main one that's huge, which the pretty, thin girls use, as well as the buff guys. Then the hidden one in the woman's change room. It's smaller and quieter. There's usually only three or four other girls in there. I call it the insecure gym. I go in there so no one watches, no one stares. It's connected to the change room, so each day after I work out, I weigh myself. I walk past women at lockers and hope that nobody notices how gross I am. I hope nobody notices that I'm broken. I have a story, I have a past. I hope nobody notices that the scale is the devil for me. I take off my shoes and step on, trying to ignore the strangers not-so-discreet stares. 100 pounds. On the dot. I am a failure. I stare at it for a little and hope nobody notices how long I've been standing here staring. 5'4 and 100 pounds. I am a broken doll. I stare at the number and a million thoughts go through my head. Fat, ugly, slut, whore, b****, stupid, no good, nothing, worthless, useless, unloved. That's me. Maybe if I tried harder, he wouldn't have hit me. Maybe he wouldn't have hurt me. Maybe maybe maybe. Maybe if I wasn't such a failure.



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