He stood there, under the dim lights of the bathroom, staring into his eternity. His eyes leaked tears and they raced across his cheeks as though for the greatest prize. He was bare to the world, but none of that mattered.
His cheeks retained their old fat; his chest remained swelled; and his hips remained wide. His waist caved in narrow like a corset, choking him with metaphor and presentation because that is all the world cares about for him and people like him. When you're body doesn't fit, you are Alien and Outcast, freak and fake, lying and in need of realignment, as though you're some sort of pipe in a rotten and rusted sewer.
Staring into his eternity, and all he saw was mistakes, imperfections that needed correcting. Something had to change, him or himself, otherwise he just might die.
'Of age and under treatment', he thought, 'Is better than under age and without treatment.' Treating this ugly disease as it crawled its way from his loins into his bones into his brain and out t