The Monster I Became: How Roids Turned Me Into a God
Not just physically — I was weak in every way that mattered. I smiled too much. I apologized when I didn’t need to. I let people walk all over me because I was terrified of being disliked. I was soft. Fragile. A fucking joke of a man.
Then I started injecting.
At first it was just about the body. I wanted to be big. I wanted to stop feeling small. But the roids had other plans.
The first cycle hit like a freight train. My shoulders exploded. My chest thickened. Veins started crawling across my arms like they were trying to escape. 200lbs became 240. Then 260. Then 280. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw less of the old me and more of something… else.
But the real change wasn’t in the mirror.
The rage came first. Small things would set me off — a guy looking at me too long in the gym, someone cutting in front of me in traffic, even the way my own reflection sometimes stared back. My temper went from zero to nuclear in seconds. I started enjoying it. The power. The fear in other men’s eyes when I raised my voice. I stopped apologizing. I stopped smiling unless it was to intimidate.
Then came the superiority.
I started seeing normal men as insects. Weak. Soft. Pathetic. They spent their lives chasing money, women, status — all while I was becoming something they could never be. A god. A fucking Viking of muscle and testosterone. Every pound I added made me more certain that I was above them. Born above them.
The addiction was the worst part. Not the physical dependence — though that was real. It was the psychological one. I needed to be bigger. I needed to feel the rage. I needed to watch smaller men shrink when I walked into a room. The roids didn’t just build my body. They rewired my brain to crave dominance the way other men crave air.
I stopped recognizing the person I used to be. That weak, smiling, apologetic version of me felt like a stranger. A ghost. A lie I used to tell myself so I wouldn’t have to face what I really was.
That’s when I started wearing the mask.
Not because I was ashamed. Because the mask is the truth now. The skull isn’t hiding my face — it’s revealing what the roids turned me into. Something ancient. Something brutal. Something that was always meant to dominate.
300lbs of pure steroid-fueled muscle. Veins thick as ropes. Shoulders that could crush a man. A chest so massive it looks like it was carved from stone. And behind the mask… eyes that don’t blink when they see weakness. A mind that doesn’t hesitate when it decides to break someone.
I don’t just lift weights anymore.
I lift men’s self-worth and crush it under my heel.
I don’t just grow muscle.
I grow the need to own. To control. To be worshipped.
The roids didn’t make me a bodybuilder.
They made me the thing weak men fear and strong men secretly want to become.
Now I’m 300lbs of masked, roided, alpha Viking God.
I was never meant to be normal.
I was forged in testosterone and rage to break the weak and claim what’s mine.
Every cycle makes me meaner. Every pound makes me more certain that the world belongs at my feet.
The dominance never ends.
And if you’re reading this right now… you already feel it, don’t you?
That sick little thrill in your stomach telling you that you were never meant to be in control.
You were meant to worship.
You were meant to submit to something bigger than you.
Something that was always going to win.
300lbs of roided muscle and psychological warfare.
The monster the old me was too scared to become.
The god the new me was always destined to be.
And I’m just getting started.
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