Anonymous

That’s part of the problem, I think. I keep waiting for my sexual partners to figure out how to bring me to orgasm.

I often think about the people in my hometown whose lives were ruined because they live in the “wrong” state. That same stigma causes me to feel horrible after I smoke.

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

I was married to my own child for 21 years. I thought I was marrying my high school sweetheart, but I was actually becoming my husband's mother.

What's more dangerous — meeting people on the Internet or meeting people in real life?

It never felt like sexual assault, him taking the sex I didn’t offer. It felt more like a silent agreement. I surrendered to sex; he didn’t complain.

I never imagined myself being anyone’s wife so I grieved for my single life when I got married. I began to secretly long for the life I’d left behind.

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

When I left the hospital the night that he was admitted, I sat in the parking lot gasping with big ugly sobs and looking for someone to blame — beginning with myself. I'm his mother, and I'm the only consistent parent he's ever had. As I finally made my way home, with tears streaming down my face and my mouth open in a silent scream of pain, all I could ask myself was "what have I done?" How could I have allowed my son to be hurt so deeply, and in so many ways?

In my checkered past, long before I was a member of the PTA, I sometimes worked behind the scenes in X-rated films