My name is Rob, and I am planning on murdering a fat person…
That fat person is currently living inside me. Food is a weakness in my life, and it begins with the problem of my inner chubber (read: fat person). He loves take-away food. He loves eating in large portions. He can go through a packet of biscuits if you keep the cups of tea coming. He can drink my weight in lager and he can always handle someone else’s leftovers. Christ, as I write this, my inner chubber thinking about lasagne. He loves food. He loves the smells, the tastes, the textures, and the satisfaction it brings him. My inner chubber is a nasty piece of work. He will preach the benefits of eating healthily to throw others off of the scent of his evil schemes, which usually involve depositing large amounts of calories into my system. He will whisper sweet nothings in my ears, which usually lead to my dialling and his eating take-away food. He is a menace and he must be stopped. As with most murder victims, his demise will come at the hands of someone he knows too well: me.
Here’s a bit of back story: on New Year’s Eve 2014, a friend of my father’s was at our house, and he spent a good few minutes making fat jokes at my expense. It was nasty, and merciless. These may seem like grandiose words, but anybody that has been attacked for something they already hate about themselves will know that kind of pain grows at incalculable rate. I was furious, until I got to my bedroom, where I cried, and sobbed, and began to look inside myself for someone to blame for my self-loathing. I hated my dad’s friend for a good two minutes, but then I began to really look at myself. That’s when I noticed my chubber, creeping in the corners of my psyche and waiting to get me to the bread bin again. I always knew he was there, but I have been scared to look at him; now I see him in perfect light, and he isn’t going to leave the light until he is dead.
Anybody living with a chubber inside of themselves will know, regardless of whether they can admit it to themselves, that the chubber within was born of one’s own bad habits and self-esteem issues. I myself know that my chubber is a distorted mirror of myself, created out of my own laziness and lack of self-respect. My chubber is a creature that feeds not only on bad food, but on excuses and self-loathing. He lives in the dark cave that should be the bright home of my willpower. My chubber is a user and a junkie, and he will go to most lengths to get his fix. I hate him. My chubber is going to die. It will be a slow death (I wish it could be quick), but it will be a sure death. There will be no honour in it, and nobody will mourn the loss of him. He will not receive a ceremonious burial. His legend will not live on. He will not return.
When I was 20 (I’m now nearly 27), I lost two stones in weight after a bad break-up led to my not eating at all for two weeks. It was severely unhealthy, but it led to rapid weight loss and a dramatic change in my appearance. Since then I have found myself threatening to starve myself to destroy my chubber once and for all, but I know in my educated mind that that is not the answer. The death of my chubber must come after a long, hard, precise campaign of exercise and sensible eating. It must be merciless and I must be willing to hurt for it in the right way. I am not a naturally thin person; I won’t simply shed fat – it must be exiled under duress. My body will not work with me, so I will be battling this whilst dragging this podgy husk through the woods with me.
The first thing that my chubber will do to defend himself is listen to the women in my life. As a primary school teacher, I work with a lot of maternally gifted and wonderful natured people. They will tell me I’m fine as I am, as my mother already has. My chubber will latch onto these comments and use them to walk me to the chip shop, or the Chinese take-away, or even to the donut section of the nearest Tesco Express. Later, as the fruits of my efforts begin to show, my chubber will attempt to tell me that it is okay to have a cheat meal (or six). This will then quickly become my lifestyle again – soft drinks with deep-fried food, on top of weekends of beer or take-away food. The last part of my journey is uncharted territory – I’ve never taken my chubber to the edge of the cliff, so I have no idea what he will do near the end. I imagine it will be brutal, and bloody – but I am willing to let a part of me die for this cause.
This life resolution is a must. I am a confident person with no self-esteem. I draw attention to myself all the time, but I hate the way I look. I have a beautiful girlfriend, with whom I am moving into our first home, but I don’t feel worthy of her in any way. She is also endlessly supportive of me and until now I have been too lazy and selfish to support myself. I have handsome, thin friends, and I hate being around them, because all I can think about is the fact that I am fat and they are slim, and that makes me stand out for a reason I didn’t choose. My chubber has turned a confident young man, in whom others see/ saw promise, into a raving ball of low self-esteem.
I plan to lose five stones in weight. I am currently in excess of eighteen stones, and I am only getting worse. It’s time to finally destroy the thing that is destroying me. I am recording this process using photographs and words,and eventually I will probably make videos of this journey. I will be getting away with the murder of a foul creature, and my bloodlust is growing my the minute. I know my chubber better than anybody, and it is time I took responsibility for my actions. He has to go.
Do not mourn him. Do not get in my way.