When I first read this prompt, the first thing that came to mind was jack-fruit chips. Fried, oily, greasy, heart-attack inducing, fattening jack-fruit chips. Three years ago, I couldn’t live without those things. My Dad used to buy two or three packets of chips and stock them in the airtight compartment, and I never even felt guilty at his shocked face when he realized I had finished one packet in the span of one evening tea session.
It had consequences as well. It went straight to my hips and my thighs and my abdomen and I hated looking at myself in the mirror, but still not enough to give up jack-fruit chips. But then everyone’s looks started getting to me. Not at my size or weight, no, because I definitely didn’t put on that much-I was still of a medium build. But people would stare whenever I started munching on that stuff. I was only eleven, I don’t know why it surprised all of them that I didn’t seem to have any limit on my chips intake. But then again, I had always been a sort of mature kid in that I had my younger siblings to take care of, and I used to read instead of going out and playing like everyone else. So it might have surprised my friends and family that I inhaled this particular type of junk food. But no matter why they stared, it still bothered me. And then I actually learned that eating a lot of fatty food made you fat-big surprise there-and that obesity would eventually lead to diabetes and heart attacks and early deathbeds and so on.
Out of all of the listed problems, it was diabetes that bothered me. Not because of the fact that I would most probably become part of a statistic when I became older, or any typical reason. See, my family had a history of diabetes, and though my mother and father were only on the verge of becoming diabetics, both of my grandparents-my Mom’s parents-had been diabetic patients for most of their lives. When I was younger, I used to stay at their place for long periods of time, and I used to watch in curiosity as my grandfather injected my grandmother’s morning and evening insulin shots, and then did the same to himself each time. Eventually I found out why, and when I realized there was a very high chance of me becoming a diabetic myself, I simultaneously, in pure unadulterated horror, realized another thing.
I would have to take insulin shots.
That wasn’t true, of course, since I could just control my diet and take tablets, but I didn’t know that when I was eleven. I was severely trypanophobic (fear of injections), I still am, and I probably always will be.
That was what gave me the impetus to get rid of this harmful addiction, and though it was difficult at first, within a few weeks, I had stopped devouring jack-fruit chips completely. My mouth still sometimes waters at the sight of a cramped packet full of beautiful golden chips, the smell wafting all over the room, but I like to think that I’ve gotten stronger. I haven’t had any ever since.