Anxiety

Anxiety

The guilt you feel for a wrong you never knew.

The fear of hurting another to push them away.

The worry that you will never be what the world expects.

The constant constriction in your chest that squeezes like a vice.

It is a master of infiltration and disguise.

Its target, peace. Its calling card, perception.

Its compatriots: fear and doubt.

Its occasional ally: pride.

Spawned by: love, hate, lust,

MISUNDERSTANDING.

And there are times where it cannot be removed, cannot be destroyed. You cannot simply shoot it. One may mask it, but that disguise often makes it stronger.

One may seek to control it. But control does not come easily, and can be an expensive venture.

So what is the antidote? Is there an antidote?

Not always.

But there are things that help:

Openness.

Patience.

Empathy.

Love unfeigned.

Gentleness.

Kindness.

Hope.

These things are there, and they will come.

But only if you SPEAK.

Only if you ACT.

So.

Will you be the hostage,

or will you try again?

For me, I will ACT.

For me, I will try.

For me, I will do.

And we will see what will be.

Together.

A Whole New World

Ah, welcome. I see you’re becoming accustomed to your new body. All the travelers who come here seem to have that reaction. The male specimens on your world must be very poor, indeed to lead to such awe. Welcome to Braün. I trust your journey was a safe one. Please, come this way. Your contractor is waiting for your arrival. As per the document you signed, you will be serving here for a period of no less than two of your Earth years. That translates to seven-hundred-thirty-and-one-half days.

During your service, you will be required to act in whatever capacity your contractor desires of you, barring sexual service and favors. Depending on the aspects of what your service entails, certain alterations in thought processes and habits may occur. This is normal, and should be treated as such.

As your disclaimer form read, we at Braün are not to be held responsible in any way, shape, or form for any drops in IQ, loss of clothing, loss of memory, personality overwrite, or any other such incidents that may or may not occur. As a worker, you are to be given a temporary work visa and a certain amount of rights under your employer. Should you so decide, you may become a naturalized citizen of this world and integrate with any number of classes within the general populace. 

If there are any problems that should arise, you may contact the agency or other appropriate authorities to process your case.

Do you understand these rights and disclaimers as they have been read to you?

“Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. I get it. Say, you guys wouldn’t happen to have a mirror handy, would you?”

*Sigh* Down the corridor, last door on the right. You can pose to your heart’s content while you’re being processed.

“Sweet!”

...

Initial Analysis:

Possibility of Naturalization: High.

Potential Class: Manual Laborer/Gym Rat (May prove useful for power generation.)

All right, that one’s done. Time for the next.

Free

“I’m ... free to go?” Derek asked in a stunned voice.

The big man at the door nodded mutely, his tight black suit and blocky shades made him the epitome of the stereotypical villain’s guard. “You may leave this room and do as you wish.”

“No strings attached?”

“No strings attached.”

The shorter man leaned back against the bed as the full weight of those words sank in. “Free,” he mumbled. “I ... I can go.”

“Wherever you want,” the guard agreed in a grating rumble.

“Where are we?”

The guard smiled. “That’s for you to find out. I’m just here to give you the big news.”

The man scratched a casual itch on his thigh, then pulled at the strap on his thong. “This is ... wow. It’s ... well--”

“A lot to take in.”

“Exactly. I ... I can go.”

“Yup.”

“Any time I want.”

“Yup.”

“Anywhere at all.”

“Yup.”

“But ... I’m not moving.”

The guard shrugged. “You haven’t decided where you want to go.”

“Huh. Good point. I ... guess I should get my bearings, figure things out.”

“A sound idea,” the guard said in a neutral tone. He shrugged. “You’re free to go.”

Derek blinked absently.

“You going to move?” the guard asked. “I can’t stand here all day.”

“O-oh. Yeah. ... Yeah....” Derek strode dazedly to the door. He could hear the sound of shuffling footsteps and heavy thumps. He peeked outside. Identical rectangular doors were opening. A slow trickle of tan men slowly filtered out into the hall, peering bewildered at their peers. “There are ... others?”

“And you’re all free to go,” the deep voice rumbled behind him.

Derek took a tentative step into the hall. The other men mirrored his action, as though they were afraid it were some dream. Some retreated into their rooms. Others strode into the hall and blinked as they breathed the chemical scent of carpet cleaners and disinfectants.

“Free,” one of them breathed in utter bewilderment.

“Free to go,” another guard agreed from his place in the former prisoner’s room.

“Free to go,” one parroted. “I’m ... free to go.” He took one heavy step forward. The sound of the impact carried like an explosive charge. The whole hall tensed. Nothing happened. Nobody moved to stop him. His head darted left and right. His high-and-tight military cut accentuated the hints of jaw bone showing beneath his skin. He wore an identical thong to Derek and the other men. The hairs on his arms stood on end as the cooler air and exhilaration of sudden freedom sent goosebumps racing over his skin. He took another step forward. “I’m...” Another one. “Free to....” One more. “Go.”

He stopped, peered behind him in fear. The guard continued to stare from the portal, but made no move to follow. His breathing became shallow. A smile pulled at his lips, even as he fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. He stepped forward again, more confidently this time. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump.

He grinned as he began to pick up speed and walk past the first few doors, reciting to himself in time to his forceful steps. “I’m free to go. I’m free to go...”

One set of footprints was soon joined by two more, then four, then six. The voices rang in unison, a motivating cry calling to the wary and frightened souls that still hovered in the doorways. Derek soon found himself ensconced in the ranks. The pace was awkward at first, but the continuous chant pounded in rhythm, and he soon adapted to the march.

Some laughed. Others cried. Others cheered at the top of their lungs. The call remained the same. It remained as their troops divided. Some waited by elevators, still chanting as they pushed the call buttons and marched in place. Others strode to a great metal door and shoved it open to the echoing stairwell that waited beyond. The echoes repeated as foot struck stair, smacking in time to the chorus of voices.

Derek peered down, surprised to see so many heads, so many bodies pressing forward in an orderly fashion. He wanted to think. He wanted to question. And yet, all he could think, all he could recall, was that wondrous phrase over and over as he grinned. “I’m free to go.”

The passage opened on the ground floor as the body moved en masse to pass through a finely decorated lobby. A backlit sign read Growing Pains Spa over the desk. A smaller subtext ran underneath the main title that read, Relax and Gain.

He blinked. His mouth kept moving. His bare feet kept thumping. His gaze turned idly to the tinted glass doors with their bronze handles and revolving shafts. Some of the other men strode through them. One cycle later, more guards would walk in with that same set of shades, broad shoulders, and rippling muscles.

Derek grunted briefly as he felt a familiar warmth in his crotch, followed by a tightness in the pouch. That warmth spread, until he began to sweat. His hands twitched and clenched as the march continued forward past a photo checkpoint and into a room filled with a hauntingly familiar sound.

Metal plates clacked steadily with the grunts and growls of many a muscular man. Music pulsed and thumped in his ears. And then he saw it in great bold capital letters that plastered the high brick walls in vivid red to draw the eye of every visitor in.

YOU’RE FREE TO GROW.

Derek thudded over to a weight machine, not even thinking anymore as his body moved for him. He watched impassively as burlier men strode into the locker room ENTRANCE. Seconds later, a new set of guards strode out the EXIT with grim expressions on their faces.

Derek hardly registered as one of them approached him. He pushed through the exercise, even as the visor lowered over his head. His posture didn’t deviate as the earbuds snaked into his ear canal. His form didn’t waver as his vision of the room slowly blacked out to be replaced by a bombardment of images accompanied by sound.

His mouth gaped open as he began to pant under his breath. “I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... free to grow ... freed to grow ... need to grow....”

The guard backed away and spoke in a dull monotone. “Relax and gain,” he said. “Relax and grow. Relax, ... and obey....”

Don’t Look

One year. One whole fucking year, you’d been trapped in this hellhole. One whole year of weights and shakes, supps and bros, grunts and flexes, and that constant arrogant son of a bitch that made you into the MUSCLE GOD you are today.

...

Damn it. You can’t even think like you used to anymore. Bro was clever, for a dumb pile of meat. No sooner do the words cross your mind than your body acts on its own. You hear that deep husky chuckle as your voice echoes and rebounds through the gym. You hardly even recognize it anymore. It just sounds so ... dull, so empty.

Didn’t used to like him. Hell, like never came into it. You loathed him. Kept strutting his stuff, showing off, bringing home girls and bros alike at all hours of the day and night. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. You had a schedule to keep, damn it. You had to WORK OUT.

...

WORK OUT

...

WORK OU--

Damn it! You had to go to your job. You had to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX.

...

It’s so hard to fight this thing. Your head jumps tracks every time you try to finish a sentence, to think about the old life. Everything just jumps right back to the GYM and WEIGHTS.

“FUCK!” you snarl. You wish you’d never worn those stupid AWESOME HEADPHONES.

You remember when you blew up at him. The look on his face, the blindside, the anger, and a glimmer of something else. Curiosity? Intrigue? Or had you just imagined that?

Mmm ... you’d love to imagine some hot a--

NO! Can’t give in to base instincts. That’s what he wants.

Though that one blonde, ... damn was she fine. Her voice. Her hips. You’re ashamed of what you did, but ... at the same time, ...

“I want more,” you whisper. You clench a hand into a fist. “Damn it....”

You remember the gift. He said to consider them an apology, a way to compromise, so you could, “sleep deep, bro.”

The dumbbells clack with every lunge you take now. Your body follows a set rhythm that you cannot break. Those words, those thoughts, those actions. Carefully planned, every last one. And you didn’t realize until it was too late.

Your headphones became your collar, its white noise your leash.

You’re still not sure what was real and what was dream. Strip clubs, health bars, gym work, muscle ache, kneeling, listening, a shadow, a phantom figure posing you like some giant mannequin.

It takes a moment to realize you’re now reflecting that exact pose in the mirror.

“Damn it,” you swear. “I’m such a dumbass.”

You feel your body shudder at that word. You know your programming approves, and he would, too.

You can’t remember when you first found out the truth. You just remember the anger and rage boiling inside, followed immediately by his crisp command. And suddenly, you were on the floor doing pushups. The anger was fueling you to break your last plateau.

You look down at your swollen arms.

You broke that plateau, all right.

Every move you tried to make against him, he would counter neatly, as a chess master would a novice.

You lost your job.

“Numbers are too hard for a dumbass like you.”

You lost your friends.

“You’ve got, like, nothing in common with them anymore, bro.”

The library banned you. You’re still not sure why. Maybe he greased a few palms. Big bro was hella rich.

“Who needs books, when you’ve got weights, bro?”

He blocked the channels with a password, so you could only watch athletic events.

“Come on, bro. Big game’s on. You know you wanna watch it....”

Even the beard was his idea.

“It’ll make you look like a total rugged badass, bro! Who wouldn’t want that?”

You were completely surrounded.

“Let me introduce you to some of my best bros...”

Always watched.

“Here, let me spot you, little bro.”

Stripped.

“You need some new duds, bro.”

Dressed.

“Aw, hell yeah. Now that’s what I call ALPHA!”

Fed.

“Chicken and rice. Gotta get your lean proteins, bro.”

... Programmed.

“Time to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX, bro. Got something new for ya....”

And you let him. The plastic sheath on one of the machines creaks and groans under your muscular grip as you grit your teeth, all while the white noise continues to play, pushing you, motivating you to work harder and grow your meat. The bulge straining in your crotch would have left you embarrassed at one point. Now, all you can do is stare at it blankly and chuckle, like it’s all some sort of game, and you’re winning.

... But how much have you lost?

Then the static cuts off. You hear the ringtone from your cell phone.

Your neck strains as the muscles you’ve spent so long developing pulse and writhe under the skin. There’s only one person who’d call you this late anymore.

And you hate his guts, even as his words push you to obey and respect him.

“‘Sup, bro?”

His voice on the other end is smug. “Just checking in on my new best bro.”

You try to bite back the glow of pride swelling in your chest. You don’t succeed.

“Was just getting in some extra sets before coming home. I’m fucking starved. What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite.”

You moan. “Ribs?” Damn him for using your love of barbecue against you.

“I figured you deserved a reward, after all your hard work.”

You flex, as though he were there. It’s natural, automatic. It’s ... how you react to a lot of things now, actually.

“It has been a whole year,” he noted. “And I wanted to celebrate with you. We’re pulling out all the stops. Hell, I’ve even got a special gift lined up for you, if you want it.”

“Don’t I have to accept all your ‘gifts,’ anyway?”

“Was that a note of bitterness I detected?”

“Maybe just a little,” you admit. You can’t lie to him. He made sure of that. Bros before hoes. Bros don’t keep secrets.

“So, you’re still not happy?”

“You should know. You are my roommate.”

“I thought you would’ve warmed up to it by now. You flirt like a champ, tackle weights like a beast, and you practically baptized yourself with beer at the superbowl party.”

You shrug your titanic shoulders. “I’m a bro, bro. You kinda m--. M--.” You furrow your brow. You can’t say the word.

“I made you like this. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You nod.

After a period of silence, he spoke up. “You do realize I can’t see you, right?”

The sound of your hand slapping your forehead was enough to set him off laughing.

“Fuck you,” you snarl. S’not funny!” Finally, a loophole in your programming you can exploit.

He was silent for a time. “No, I suppose it’s not. It wasn’t funny when you challenged me either. You killed my date that night. Not cool, bro.”

“And that justifies putting me on a training regimen?” You couldn’t outright call it brainwashing or hypnosis. Those words had been forbidden.

“Considering all the names you called me that night, yeah. I wanted you to see just what it was like to be a bro, to think like a bro, to act like a bro. I wanted you to know just how it feels to have society judging you every second of every day for your choices, always thinking you’re just some dumb musclehead waiting to show off. Never taking you seriously, never giving you the time of day. I wanted you to see the sacrifices we had to make to get where we are with the whole world laughing in our faces. So yes, I think your ‘training regimen’ was well deserved.”

You could practically see his glare over the line.

“I may be a dumbass and a jerk at times, but at least I own it. I told you what I had planned. I let you know in advance, and you never said a word to me, not one word. Did you really think I wouldn’t have listened, if you’d just pulled me aside in private and asked? But no, you were too scared to. You thought the big bad alpha bro was gonna beat you up the moment you stepped out of line. You’re not scared of me now, are you?”

“No.”

“And why do you think that is?”

You grit your teeth again.

“Judging by your silence, you know the right answer. You’re angry at me, but you’re not scared of me, because you’ve gotten to know me.” He was silent for a time. He didn’t have to worry about you closing the call. Only he could end the conversation. “I’ll tell you what. It’s clear enough that you’ve learned your lesson, even if you’re not willing to admit it. Part of that is the pride I helped build, and part of it is the pride you had before I even started helping you. So, I’m going to give you a choice, or rather, a chance. If you want to be your old self again in every way, you just have to do one little thing. I’ll even make sure to pay you back for all your troubles and losses.”

“... I’m listening.”

“All you have to do is keep yourself from admiring yourself in the mirror. No flexing, no posing, no standing still to look over your changes. If you can keep that up for the rest of your workout time without doing any exercises or fitness-related stretches, then I’ll reverse everything I’ve done in your head. Fail, though, and you have to pay the price.”

“Which is?”

“You get to say goodbye to your old self entirely of your own free will. You’ll accept being a bro, embrace it, love it, revel in it. The bro will be you, and you will be the bro. You’ll become the dimwitted musclehead you feared. The gym will be your home, your fellow bros your family. Sports and weights, muscle and shakes, and letting your meat do all the thinking for you will be your new norm, and you’ll love every second of it.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“Then we continue as we have.”

“Let me get this straight. So, it’s either try and possibly be free, or don’t and wind up with the failure option eventually happening no matter what.”

“Exactly.”

“... You’re on.”

“Excellent. Good luck, little bro.”

The call cut off. The static returned, and you took your seat as you reviewed your phone. Just had to keep distracted. That was all.

The first few minutes were a breeze, but after that the restlessness set in. Your body wanted to move, and you knew the recording was reinforcing that need to egg you on. You leaned forward and pulled up your phone’s apps. Your brainwashing had forced you to delete the entertainment apps and left you only with fitness trackers and camera.

You clicked into the camera app and scrolled through your selfies from the start to now. Big bro had done a good job. You had to admit that. That uncertainty solidifying into a cocky smirk. The clothes shifting to large, then extra large, then XXL. Sleeves being torn. Seams burst. It left you feeling breathless. You squirmed in your chair as you felt another surge of instinct scream at you to act, to move, to work out.

Your chest heaved as your triceps contracted under the sudden shift in your posture. You looked desperately down at your dangling necklace swinging back and forth. The chain was designed to highlight the amount of muscle you’d built in your pectorals. Surely, it could help keep you distracted for a few more minutes.

You fiddled with the chain, listening to its links hiss and chink as you hefted and manipulated it. You dug it into your skin a few times to try and distract yourself from that gnawing urge. Toes tapped, heels bounced. It was so difficult!

Why?

Your fingers played with the exercise band to keep your mind occupied, but that didn’t help. Your phone glitched, and the appc losed out. You opened the camera again, and caught a snatch of calf between all the weights.

Your breath became shallow as your hand shook.

Come on. You’re stronger than this. Think about the consequences. Think about ... about ... what were their names again? 

You could barely recall the faces of your former friends. They were more blurs than proper images. Blurs that slowly hardened into thick, square jaws and piercing eyes. The familiar impact of dice rolling on the table was replaced with the equally familiar clank of weights smacking against one another and the retort of guns on the shooting range.

Clapping hands became back slaps. Hand shakes were fist bumps. Exultant cheers and jubilant hugs were replaced with grunts, roars, and chest bumps.

That’s ... that’s not....

Tackling.

I...

Videogames with wrestling.

Can’t....

Soda cans replaced with beer.

No....

Delicate hands brushing over your beastly arms. “Hey there, stud. How about a gun show?”

Your legs are spread wide, your eyes unfocused. Weight and bars and chicks and muscle and posing and wrestling and ... and ... and....

“Heads up, Bro!”

The camera flash had been so intense back then. You blinked. You heard a shutter click.

You gaped at the image on your phone. Your thumbs moved on autopilot. You hit send.

Back at your apartment, your Big Bro smiles at the image and its accompanying text as he pulls the ribs out of the oven.

Better have those fucking ribs ready, Bro. I’m starving.

Get Bricked

You didn’t believe him when he first approached you in the gym. You thought he’d misspoken. Most of the guy in the gym did, actually, and Marcus was the biggest of the bunch.

“Let me help you,” he’d said. “Work with me, and by the time I’m done with you, you’ll really be bricked.”

“Uh, don’t you mean ripped?” you’d asked.

Marcus just smiled as he motioned to the weight bench.

It came in little stages. A few reps here, a bit of cardio there. And all the while, Marcus would babble on about his work routine, his diets, the focus it required, the diligence, the ability to be absolutely unyielding in every respect. It got kinda repetitive, so you just sort of grunted and filtered it out as you worked.

For a time, things were pretty cool. Your grades were up, your concentration was better than it had ever been before. You’d learned how to filter out things you didn’t want to listen to or focus on, thanks to all that practice with Marcus in the first place. And it goes without saying that your body was toning nicely. Things were pretty great.

Then he suggested you spend more time in the gym.

And before you knew it, you’d already grunted and nodded along like you always do. His grin was massive, and the workout that day particularly vicious. Your arms felt like they wanted to fall off. You were so tired that night, you didn’t even want to so much as think about your homework.

So you didn’t.

It was the first time you deliberately chose not to work on an assignment you knew was going to be due the next day. It wouldn’t be the last.

The workouts were killers, but you couldn’t help but smile weakly at Marcus when you’d managed to push through another plateau. The guy was just so enthusiastic and charismatic. He’d flex whenever he got really excited. You couldn’t help but wonder if the muscle was part of it all in the first place. Could it really be that simple to gain such confidence?

...

It had been so embarrassing the first time he caught you posing in the locker room mirrors. But then he just chuckled and popped a little flex of his own.

“Like this, bro,” he’d said. You spent the next half hour practicing poses in the mirror. The way the light reflected off his skin, the ripple of the raw muscle beneath the flesh, the way the veins accented the primary locations. It was almost a form of poetry.

You practiced those poses every day from then on at home in your closet mirror.

Then came the party. Marcus insisted you attend at his place for a premier football game, just a close gathering, some of the guys hanging out. You were flattered, but you hardly felt prepared for that sort of thing. Sports had never really been your forte. But Marcus insisted. Time and place.

It was inevitable for you to follow.

You’re still not exactly sure what happened that night. Things are sort of hazy. You arrived on time, but none of the other guys from the gym were there yet. Marcus just chuckled and said they’d be along soon. Then he wrapped his huge arm around your shoulders and led you to the huge leather couch in front of a gigantic flat screen TV.

One minute you were watching the screen. The next, you were standing at the door with your iphone in hand and the rest of the gym goers smacking you on the back.

“I want you to listen to those tunes, bro,” Marcus said seriously. “No skimping out. Every day for your warmups, every night when you sleep. Got it?”

You nodded numbly. And for some odd reason, you chose to run home that night, rather than calling a cab.

It got a lot easier to understand the guys at the gym after that. It didn’t take all that much, really. You just had to do a little research on football and some of the other sports they liked. If you didn’t know about something, you’d ask one of them, and they’d be able to explain it in perfect detail. You were shocked. The guys weren’t dumb. They just specialized. Tony was football, Mikey weights, Alphy diet and nutrition. They became your gurus, all while Marcus continued to push your limits with his routines.

You nearly threw it all away when you got your report card at the end of the year, though. C in almost every course. That wasn’t like you. How were you supposed to get into college like this? It hurt to go and tell the news to Marcus, but you knew you had to.

Then came that hazy period again. You’re not sure what was said. All you knew was you needed to keep going. The gym made you happy now, surprisingly enough. And the guys, well ... you’d become sort of like a unit. You couldn’t picture doing anything without them around anymore.

You got yourself a tutor, and he helped you to pass. You didn’t like that your GPA had dropped so much, but it was better than before.

You hardly pay attention to the teachers now, though. It’s all just so ... boring for you. You’d pass the time by doing mini-flexes and running through some of the games you’d caught the other night in your head.

You still remember the first time you chuckled. It had been so easy. It just sort of burst out of you like a belch. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed....

Most of your games moldered in the dust now. Madden, EA Games, sports, those all were used well enough. After all, you had to have something to play with your bros from time to time.

Then they finally invited you here, to this place. The rough stone blocks behind you were a light dull gray. Daylight streamed over it, highlighting the muscles that now stood out from your sleeveless shirt.

The response was automatic. You raised your arms and flexed. You admired the light as it played across the flesh, casting it shadows that flowed over the curves and bends like a work of art.

You smirked.

You sneered.

You were a muscle god, and you liked it that way.

School? Screw it.

D&D? Bro, you were living that dream. No need to play a barbarian with these guns.

Your future? ... Why think about it? Your future was here with your bros.

Class? ... Class made your head hurt. Whatever. If you pass, that’s all that mattered. You couldn’t get banned from the gym. S’where you and the bros hung out.

You stare into Marcus’ face as he grins triumphantly at you.

“So, how does it feel to be bricked?”

The words flow out of you as easily as if you’d been cursing your whole life. “Huhuh. Fucking sweet, bro.”

And it was. The gym is your life now. The gym and your bros. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reblogs are definitely coming. This is beautiful, and it needs to be shared.

I’ve been holding on to this for a while. In… September? I was having a Really Bad Time. So I ended up making this comic to sort of… sort through some stuff. It really helped.

I hope maybe it can resonate with other people, too.

Reblogs would be very appreciated, so more people can see it <3