Twinning With Taylor Swift (In The Worst Possible Way)

BY CHELSEA RICCHIO

Taylor Swift and I both broke up with our boyfriends recently.

You may be thinking, “Wait, you had a boyfriend?”

And I don’t blame you, because the relationship was so short that I didn’t have time to tell a whole lot of people about it.

I keep trying to write about my feelings on the situation so I can heal but for some reason the words just aren’t coming out. I think this is because there is one version of this story that I am comfortable talking about, the one in which I believe whatever I need to in order to feel okay about things – the one in which I believe whatever he says – but there is another version that I could barely even think about until now.

That’s the version in which I realize that I still do not have the full story, and the full story probably isn’t going to make me feel okay about anything. The full story is probably full of half truths and lies of omission and someone who doesn’t care even half as much as I thought he did (which was already only about half as much as I do). Continue reading

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My Eating Disorder: Not a choice, but a lack of control

BY STEPHANIE BERTOLO

I’m not entirely sure what the general population thinks about eating disorders. Like most mental illnesses, they’re not usually talked about. And when they are, they’re mainly glamorized, used in the wrong context, or viewed in a negative light. Some see these illnesses as tragically beautiful. Others single out naturally skinny women and label them anorexic. People make crass speculations like: “It’s a choice” or “It’s just for attention.” I truly hope that most people don’t believe these toxic assumptions. But I suppose for some, it is still a question of how and why people find themselves with eating disorders.

Quite obviously, I can’t speak for everyone. But I can explain why I think I became anorexic.

Was it my choice?

In short, no.

I did not choose to grow up in a society where women are told they’re only beautiful if they index.jpgare thin. My family also propagated these ideas. With a sister ten years my senior, I was exposed to dieting from a young age as I watched her try every restrictive meal plan in the book. My mother would always mention that after her divorce, she dropped below a hundred pounds. My aunt would then respond by saying how pretty she looked then, until she met my father and gained all the weight back. My father would describe gorgeous women as being “a hundred pounds soaking wet.” And so, I began to see being skinny as a sign of strength and beauty.

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Love Yourself

BY RACHEL WONG

I am scared of a lot of things. Most of these fears are rational (insert spiders, death, horror films) but a lot of them are also irrational (insert sunny-side up eggs). What I am most scared of is how I present myself how others perceive me.

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Basically, I give a damn about what you think of me. It may not look like it, but I do. And I think about it every day and every night.

I remember coming across a blog post a few years ago that made me question my entire existence. To paraphrase, the post went something like this:

You’ve never actually seen yourself. You have only seen mirror reflections or pictures. But you have never truly seen your “self”.

The post may have been a little over the top but it got me thinking a lot about how I present myself and what people think when they see me, hear me talk, or interact with me. Do I make a good impression on them? Do they think I’m pretty? Do they notice the zit I sometimes feel forming on my forehead? Most of all, do they even like me?

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Is This Really What I Look Like?

By Nathalie Pye

Weight is a very sensitive issue for a lot of people. And as much as I try to believe that my appearance isn’t everything, and that I’m not influenced by the media, I am.

Last week I was getting ready to go to a show at my old high school, and no matter what I wore I absolutely hated myself. No amount of makeup or covering up could hide the fact that my thighs were too fat, my hips too wide and my stomach too big. It also didn’t help that I had to go shopping earlier and I didn’t think that anything looked good on me.

On my way to the show that night, here’s what was going through my head: I’m going to my high school and going to see people I haven’t seen in five years. Will they notice? Will they care? Does that say something bad about me? Why do I care so much? My. Size. Doesn’t. Mean. Anything.
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