Why Feeling Fat is Worse Than Being Fat

Before you jump down my throat about this title and tell me that it is in fact false. I just quickly wanted to let you know that it was more to get you to read the article than anything. Click bait, I suppose. Though I am going to touch on the topic of the title, I do not believe that being overweight or obese is less difficult than simply feeling it.

There are a lot of health issues that come with obesity, a lot of societal hate and pressure and a lot of mental health struggles. So no, it probably isn’t worse.

But naming this blog

I am fighting a serious struggle with my inner fat kid, and it’s causing me serious distress, especially around Christmas

was way too long.


With Christmas around the corner, I am anxiously dreading the unified “I’m fat” conversation that comes up each year. The chat where everyone goes around and publicly shames themselves for weighing too much after Christmas dinner, followed by a series of praise for how much they work out. Then someone goes and grabs the scale and we all weigh ourselves and call ourselves “Fatsos”. Healthy right?

Growing up with this,  instilled a great fear in me and a serious body complex. One I have struggled with my entire life. Some years I can handle it, others I see the number on the scale and I just want to peel my skin off.

As I’ve gotten older, I look back at when I used to weigh 10, 20, 30 pounds less than I do now and I cringe at how I have just accepted the number on the scale as reality.

That saddest part is I am not fat.

I am a healthy, normal and average weight for my age and height. I am beautiful, I am healthy, I am fit… and yet I see myself in the mirror and I hate what I see.

This years dread has started much earlier than most years, and it’s because I stupidly stepped on the scale to see how much I weighed. I did it because it had been 6 months since I had been on it last, and in those past 6 months I made a very conscious effort to work out 3 -5 times a week.

To my utmost fear and dread – I weighed 10 more pounds than I did the last time… this is the heaviest I have ever been in my life!

So what did I do?

I got very upset and it set forth my binge habit. I went to the corner store, picked up 6 bags of candy and chocolate and downed it in 2 hours. Guilty, ashamed and even angrier at myself I then went to the pharmacy and bought a light laxative. I then vowed, I would only eat when I was around people… that way no one would know I was starving myself.

A huge part of me wants to starve myself until I am at the weight I want to be, and then go back to my ordinary life, but my logical brain knows that starving myself is not the answer. So I set forth a plan to eat healthy… but this is where my INNER FAT KID comes to play.

He loves food. He loves eating it, he loves tasting it, he loves making it, and he especially loves going out for delicious restaurant foods. And when he is being ignored he makes a point of reminding me. Instead of just eating the healthy lunch that I made for myself, he craves more.  He wants UberEats, and candy, he wants extra sauce, and slushie drinks.

I tell him no. He pushes harder. Everything in my being says: “No this will make you fat” which oddly  weakens my self control, and I find myself eating all those extra foods, and hating myself later.

The self hate that comes with body image is incredibly powerful.


You can be bigger, obese or overweight and still feel amazing. You can walk around with confidence because at some point you figured out how to love yourself and not care what people thought of you. With all the self love in the world it wouldn’t matter if you were fat.

But when you think you’re fat – that comes with binge eating, starvation, self harm… and when you aren’t actually fat and you feel these things… no one believes you.

Bigger people roll their eyes at you.

Those close to you tell you you’re beautiful and don’t understand how you can possibly feel that way.

There isn’t an easy solution, like work out and eat healthy like there is if you actually are obese… because the reality of the matter is this isn’t a “fat” issue. It’s a mental health issue.

So perhaps I should have named this blog: Being mentally ill is worse than being fat  because then it would be true.


You may be wondering what the point of this blog post is…

Honestly? It’s to keep my mind off a bacon cheeseburger that my inner fat kid has been craving. He says I deserve it – but I know if I order it I’ll hate myself even more. So I am sitting here trying desperately to get my mind off it.

My hope is, in the act of writing this, I can let anyone feeling the same things I am that you aren’t alone. And maybe, perhaps, start the healing process once and for all. The first step is admitting you have a problem right?

Maybe my advent calendar this year will be kind thoughts, instead of chocolate. Maybe by the time the “fat conversation” comes up, I will proudly get on the scale and say:



~Athena and Hermes


I Smoked Weed and Went Into Psychosis

This is not right wing propaganda.

I say this because I know how much bullshit you have read from the “righties” about how weed is bad.

Weed is not bad. For the most part, weed is a drug that helps many people. It helps them with pain, with sleep, with getting out of their head..etc etc etc. In fact, it’s been said you can’t even overdose on it … at least there aren’t studies yet to prove otherwise.

So as you read this please keep in mind – if you smoke and love it = All the power to ya. The people who I am really calling out to are those who haven’t yet smoked and are thinking of trying it.

A couple of weeks ago, I was you.

I am a goody two shoes and have spent most of my life following the straight and narrow. So when I decided I wanted to try weed, I did my reading. (I know, lame… but I wanted to know I wasn’t putting myself in harms way)

Everything I read about was great stuff! I could also tell when it was “war against drugs” propaganda and I concluded that – “YEP. I am going to have some fun and let loose. The worst that can happen is a get a little paranoid, or a eat a whole bag of chips…or five.”

Famous last words. (But I’ll get to that.)

It was the weekend, I told my boyfriend – Will you teach me how to smoke weed? I want to try.

He was perplexed and shocked, because the woman he dated up until that moment was against all substances! But after some convincing, he agreed.

He rolled a joint. We went to the balcony and smoked.

(I smoked barely a puff because I didn’t want to over do it my first time)

Nothing happened.

After about an hour, I was kinda bummed out that he was high, and I experienced nothing – my eyes weren’t even blood shot… all that for nothing?

Babe? Can we try again? 

After nearly burning off my eyebrow trying to use a bong, we rolled another joint.

I smoked it. I felt tired. Oh this is what it’s like to be high. NOOOOT BAAAAD.

 I then felt nauseous and so I curled up and went to sleep.


I woke up the next morning and my boyfriend was being super strange. I could tell he wanted to talk to me, but didn’t know how to breach the topic. Finally we sat down and he told me what had happened.

I had indeed gone to sleep – for a total of about 30 seconds. I then bounced up, full of energy and started talking a mile a minute about how I had just entered another dimension through his shoulder. I did that on repeat about 15 times, unable to remember I had just told him that.

I then looked out the window of our apartment and on a dime switched into thinking I was in a war-torn country. He said I barely recognized him, and I was distraught and unable to recognize we were still in Canada.

By the time he got me out of my funk, I got out of bed, butt naked, exited our room and went into the bathroom where I yelled for the world to hear: I AM IN A JUNGLE!! He came into the bathroom trying to calm me down and took me back to bed where he lay me down and told me he was going to the bathroom.

He stopped telling me the story for a second and then lead me to our bedroom and pointed to one of the paintings above our bed. It’s one of those paintings that completes an image with four canvases.  He continued “ When I went to the bathroom you turned this upside down last night, claimed you didn’t, and said it was talking to you.” 

I stared at the wolf painting. It was creepy. I had spun the picture around so that the eyes of the wolf were lopsided.

I don’t remember doing thatI don’t remember any of this. 

There was more.

He said once he finally got me to calm down (I apparently went through each of these scenarios several times) he put me to bed and had to convince me it was TIME FOR BED.

Once we were in bed, and he had me secure under the blankets, I started to talk once again. This time he ignored me, he said he wanted to see what I would do if I didn’t think he was watching.

I started talking to myself. He said distinctly four different versions of myself. It was as if I was hearing the movie SPLIT  he told me.

He said I cycled through these four characters flawlessly as if they were real people. They would interrupt each other, and each time they came back they picked up where they left off. They said various things – some were lies, but some…some were real things I don’t talk about.

He looked at me, lots of love in his eyes. Babe… are you diagnosed with a personality disorder? 

I stared at him. No.  I haven’t been.

I am bi polar, and he knows that. But a personality disorder?! No… it scared me. I had no recollection of any of it, except for feeling woozy.

I, of course, then did the next thing you shouldn’t do. SEARCHED THE NET. But I was surprised that any kind of thing of this nature was being dismissed as “you didn’t smoke weed man” or “this doesn’t happen.”

Here is the thing. If you are bi polar. IT CAN.  

I spoke to my therapist about it, and weed is probably one of the worst things I could do with my bi polar. I already am extremely susceptible to high dopamine levels with my mania and a heightened version of that induced by weed can cause hallucinations, delusions and  fragmentation. THIS IS CALLED A PSYCHOTIC BREAK.


With weed becoming legal in Canada now, we need to have more discussions of weed and the affects on mental health and those with mental illness. It can be very dangerous. This is not to say that ALL those with bi polar will go through this. But it is important to talk about because many more people will start to experience this.

It is SO IMPORTANT to be in a safe space when trying it for the first time. 

I am so thankful that I was in a safe space, with someone who cared about me, who could reign me in when I was taking my clothes off – yelling about being in jungles (which was apparently the bathtub) and fearing for my life in what I thought was Afghanistan. The entire ordeal was 4 hours long. My boyfriend deserves a medal.

Yes, weed is legal. But there is very little science right now about it and how it affects everyone. We don’t know what doses different people need, we don’t know the long term effects, we don’t know all that much… so

Smoke it or don’t.

But please be safe. ❤

~Athena & Hermes~