Anonymous

Being a human is hard. Being a human with an eating disorder is inexplicably hard. Every time I think I have control over the situation, my eating disorder pulls a fast one on me and reminds me what is really in charge — food and exercise.

It’s real sticky-wicked to have your body become unpredictable and tortuously painful. So here I am. Homeless. Meditation is my medication.

Like too many others out there, we have a father who gave us some of his genes and not a whole lot more. Specifically, my father is an alcoholic — has been for the entirety of his adult life.

I don't recall meeting my first love. It seems he was always with me.

Seven years before I was born, my mother made a decision that would change her life—and lead to mine.

I sat up abruptly and to my horror saw this woman using this tiny tube of glue to affix these sparkly diamante things to my lady parts . . .

This article first appeared on Mamamia and has been republished with perm

Anorexia is not what you think. Warning: Triggering pictures included.

There really isn't anything unusual about our union. For all intents and purposes it's actually a pretty typical marriage. Except we're in an open marriage.

I start each day by drawing two cards for guidance, and then further consulting the deck. Last fall, tarot cards saved my life.