There is an idea of Patrick Bateman. And then there's the reality of me, a fat slob with a disastrous routine. I used to be something special, you know? Fit, successful, powerful. But now I'm just a shell of my former self.

Every morning is a struggle. I wake up late, groggy and exhausted. I drag myself to the bathroom and stare at my bloated reflection in the mirror. I'm disgusted by what I see. I try to wash my face with some cheap drugstore cleanser, but it's useless. My skin is oily and dull, and my double chin jiggles every time I move my head.

I used to love working out, but now I dread it. I can barely make it through ten minutes on the treadmill before I'm gasping for air. My body aches and my joints creak. I'm a mess.

And my job? Don't even get me started. I hate every minute of it. But I can't seem to do anything about it. I'm stuck in this miserable routine, day after day, week after week.

There is an idea of Patrick Bateman, the successful, fit, handsome Wall Street type. But that's not me. I'm just a fat, lonely loser, drowning my sorrows in food and TV. I wish I could be someone else, someone better. But I know that's never going to happen. I'm destined to live out the rest of my days as a pathetic failure.