To Anyone Whose Ever Tried To Heal Self Hatred With Sex

I am seventeen years old and I've thrown

a house party for my best friend's birthday.

I invited our friends, they invited their friends,

they invited their friends, and now there must

be over 100 people here, and most of them

are boys who I don't know. I've had more

than a few drinks, and I go over to three 

guys who I vaguely recognise from school.

We stand in a circle and introduce ourselves,

I pretend to join in with their 'banter', and then 

out of the blue one of the boys reaches his hand

across the circle, under my dress and into my

underwear. For a second I am frozen, and then

I react how I believe that I'm supposed to.

I giggle, then I make an excuse and walk 

away.

Why Women's Magazines Will Always Make Us Feel Sh*t About Ourselves

I sit down and let myself sink into the glossy

comfort of my favourite magazine. With each flick
I'm assured that I can have perfect skin,

that I do have the power to get the sex I want,

that I if I overhaul my wardrobe I can overhaul my

life, that if I just commit 15 minutes a day to the

latest workout I can get the perfect beach body! 

Apparently I can have it all... So why do I feel...

hopeless?

Raise your hand if that feels familiar. *raises both hands* I spent years buying into the allure of the shiny self esteem breakers we call magazines. Growing up one of my favourite things was hijacking my mum's mags, poring over pages of diet tips and fashion advice on flattering your figure. I learned a lot about womanhood through those magazines. No wonder I hated myself so young.