Hi, my name is Kelsey. I live in Canada and am seventeen years old. I struggle with self confidence and my weight. I'm done with 'wanting to lose weight', I'm really doing it this time. I would love love love if someone messaged me! Remember: you're all beautiful <3
Stats: height- 5'4
hw-139.5
cw- 126.5
gw1- 135 (COMPLETED)
gw2-130 (COMPLETED)
gw3- 126
gw4-123
ugw-120

Lori Deschene (via natashakills)

(Source: nezua, via my-wishful-shrinking)

We can’t hate ourselves into a version of ourselves we can love.
Notes
48499
Posted
14 seconds ago
krystil-with-a-k:

tattoosanddrugs:

itty-bitty-babe:

kingforhermione:

lets-get-drunk-and-gamble:

scarred-mistake:

beanpunk-rockerbath:

This is 19 year old Marie Fowler. Her cancer just returned, and has been declared terminal. She’s already in Hospice Care. Her final wish is to meet Kellin Quinn from Sleeping With Sirens. Please, make it happen. Spread the word. This girl deserves it.

SIGNAL BOOST.

The small amount of notes on this post worries me. 
SIGNAL BOOST. LET’S MAKE THIS HAPPEN.

COME ON GUYS, IF WE CAN GET A FLUFFY CHICKEN FOR SOMEONE WHY NOT THIS

REBLOG THIS OR ELSE

imagine it’s you

imagine it’s you or someone you love

krystil-with-a-k:

tattoosanddrugs:

itty-bitty-babe:

kingforhermione:

lets-get-drunk-and-gamble:

scarred-mistake:

beanpunk-rockerbath:

This is 19 year old Marie Fowler. Her cancer just returned, and has been declared terminal. She’s already in Hospice Care. Her final wish is to meet Kellin Quinn from Sleeping With Sirens. Please, make it happen. Spread the word. This girl deserves it.

SIGNAL BOOST.

The small amount of notes on this post worries me. 

SIGNAL BOOST. LET’S MAKE THIS HAPPEN.

COME ON GUYS, IF WE CAN GET A FLUFFY CHICKEN FOR SOMEONE WHY NOT THIS

REBLOG THIS OR ELSE

imagine it’s you

imagine it’s you or someone you love

(Source: twentyonestewards, via need-thinsp)

Notes
446783
Posted
1 week ago
hula-hips:


Best exercise for your glutes (butt), triceps, core, forearms, hamstrings, calfs, biceps.  Keep your hips up and core engaged for best results :)

I did these today. let me tell you, I am very sore lol

hula-hips:

Best exercise for your glutes (butt), triceps, core, forearms, hamstrings, calfs, biceps.  Keep your hips up and core engaged for best results :)

I did these today. let me tell you, I am very sore lol

(via need-thinsp)

Notes
25516
Posted
1 week ago
blakegdiamond:

easyvirgin:

happy Thursday the 20th

I’d have to wait months or even years for another chance to reblog this, so why the fuck not?

blakegdiamond:

easyvirgin:

happy Thursday the 20th

I’d have to wait months or even years for another chance to reblog this, so why the fuck not?

(via philofthefitblr)

Notes
385772
Posted
4 weeks ago

thechurchofbobsaget:

girlwithalessonplan:

angrylittledad:

thatcrossfitchickauryon:

Reblogging bc epicness.

Same in our house.

mawwidge.

Even the baddest of asses doesn’t want to live through the silent treatment. 

(via fit-girls-do-it-betterr)

Notes
772955
Posted
1 month ago

r.d. (via vonmoire)

(Source: elferinge, via beyondyournightmares)

When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

Notes
115455
Posted
1 month ago

criddagucci:

if my bf was like “hey sorry i’m late, i was just fuckin a hooker”
i’d be like “that’s really gross, get tested before you kiss me”

I’d be like gtfo

Notes
28
Posted
2 months ago

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