He told me it will get easier, but it hasn’t.

Each day gets harder and harder. He shows me other women that look better than me. I know he wants me to look like them.

Then there’s the physical pain. Every morning I wake up to stiff muscles and bruises from the day before.

And no, I’m not in some weird Christian Grey relationship.

So I’ve decided: I’m in an abusive relationship with the gym.

If you look at it, your relationship with the gym does have all the classic signs of an abusive relationship. Making you maintain a certain weight. Limiting you from eating certain foods. Making you physically hurt. Keeping this game of coming-and-going, on-again-off-again commitment going.

See my point?

I’ve recently been kicking my workouts into overdrive. First of all, my dad has been walking and it makes him feel better. Then, I knew a person who was terribly unhappy and lived a terribly unhealthy lifestyle (think The Capitol from the "Hunger Games"). It made me think: Health and happiness have to be tied together to some extent. Of course, I’m not headed for marathon running or body building. I’m just talking your average workout that keeps you from being overweight.

So I started back at the gym.

The first day was fine. The second day hurt.

I called my mom complaining and she said, “It’s a good hurt, though.”

A good hurt?

I don’t believe in a good hurt. The result is good, but the hurt is bad.

You go to the dentist for a root canal. The result (your teeth not rotting out) is good. The pain? Still bad.

Giving birth—baby good, pain bad.

Yellow fever shot—not having yellow fever good, pain bad. (If you’ve never had a yellow fever shot, trust me. It hurts so much.)

So as I write this, I’m in bad pain. The only thing about this relationship is that I think he wants the best for me.

I think.