When I used to be desperate for thinspiration and didn't have access to a computer in my darker days, I would always pick up my fashion magazines and look at their deathly, dizzy looking models. They look like they're sick, diseased, dying, tired, deadly.

I looked at them and saw my goal, a target to shoot at. They were always better, stronger, in control. And I felt I was hopelessly inadequate.

So, now, I've got a plan to change things so that hopefully one day, no more little girls will have to look to them as role models or ideals of beauty.

I'm writing a letter with a petition attatched to it of as many signatures I can get of fellow teen girls I know who promise to boycott the magazine until they discontinue their sick, twisted illusion of what beauty is. I'm going to try to get people all over the county to do the same so that hopefully the message will get across, and that we will be taken seriously. And if it doesn't work, then so what? That's just more encouragement to try harder.

I went to my friend's house, saw this bowl of chocolates and knew I was going to eat them. I stuffed my face, to put it kindly. I hadn't eaten anything else but half an apple today and I was hungry. So...so what?