Things I used to do on purpose.

Friday, May 16, 2008

I don't know if any of you ever did things like this as a kid, but, well I sure did. I was screaming for attention, in every way possible. When I was 5 years old, my parents moved me away from my family in California, to an unknown world that I like to call, Washington state. My cousin was 6 months older than me, and more like a brother than a cousin. Leaving him was like being separated from a sibling. I was also parting from my grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, ect. And while this is all starting to sound sort of depressing, its going to end up funny I promise. Earlier when I asked you if you ever did things like this when you were younger, its because I don't know much about what other kids feel. I was unpopular, with usually 1 or two friends at a time. My parents were distracted and occupied, and for the most part, I grew up alone. I remember my thought process was something like this. "That girl broke her arm. And now everyone loves her. If I could just break my arm, I would have all the attention in the world, and soon the world would be mine, MUAHAHA!". Do you see where this is going? I tried to break my own arm. Several times. But, picture this. I'm seven years old. I'm living in a trailer home out in the middle of nowhere. My parents aren't home, who knows where they are. I figure, if I bang my elbow up against the doorway enough times, it will just... break! So I do this until I can't stand it anymore. ...Is it broken yet?? *sigh* yeah doesn't look like it. Dangit. Ok what else can I do. I have to be wearing a cast by tomorrow, or I'll never have friends. I could put something really heavy on it. Yes. That's what I'll do! My dad has lots of heavy things! I'll just take something, put it on my arm, and it will break under the pressure. Yes! Lets start with... this bucket! Not heavy enough. This chair! No. That's not working either. Maybe if someone sits down on it though! Okay, so, that's it! I need someone to help me. ...Sure enough, I recruited my only friend at the time, Lindsay. She rode her bike to my house from down the street, we put the chair on top of my arm, and she sat it in. Ohmygosh ouch! "It hurts! Get off!" I yelled. Well of course it hurts. We're trying to break my arm here. A few years later Lindsay broke her ankle while we were roller blading in her back yard. ...Bitch. She got a wheelchair and everything. Can you imagine the jealousy? I never did end up breaking my arm and getting the attention-drawing cast of my dreams. But that's OK. Because as I got older, I just thought of more things to do for attention.

Dramatic haircuts. Coughing. Sunburns. Every time my skin turned pink, I got attention from everyone. Soon this was drilled into my head. If I went outside without sunblock, my skin would burn, and my mom would have to help me rub Aloe Vera gel all over me, at least twice a day. Not only that, but in general, she'd be nicer to me. Bring on the sun, and bring on the burns! I always seemed to forget how bad the sun burns actually hurt, until that first night when I'd try going to sleep. The pain was outrageous. But I knew that the next day, It would all be worth it. When I was in the 9th grade, my school's band took a trip to Disneyland. For whatever reason, my way of thinking still hadn't evolved, and when we went to Sea World, I purposely denied my skin the sun block that it so honestly needed. Boy did I burn. Like a marshmallow on a stick over a fire. My skin literally bubbled. And I asked for this? By that time, it was just habit. This time my mom wasn't there to baby me. Nobody was. So I suffered. The seat belts on the rides killed me. And even though every day after that, I practically showered in the thick white protecting lotion, every time the sun touched my body I cringed with pain. I got one hell of a tan out of though. I should be grateful for that. And for the record, that was the last time I ever burnt myself on purpose.

Oh, my first tattoo. I'll admit it. At the time, I wanted anything. It didn't matter what it was. I wanted to be noticed. When I was 16, there was only one tattoo shop in town that agreed to do it. Which was illegal, but they probably needed the money, and what did I care about the law anyways? So the whole family, both of my parents and myself, went down and we all got our very first tattoos together. When I tell you what I got, you'll probably laugh. Actually, you can probably guess what I got, and where I got it. ...I'll wait until you've got an idea in your head. ...Ready? Yes, you were right. A butterfly, on my upper back. Shush! At the time it has absolutely no meaning. I was that girl, I went in, pointed to the picture, and said "I like that". Its true. But now, that same tattoo is exploding with meaning, seeing as how its the only thing that my parents and I have in common. I remember that day like it was yesterday, and I always will. I couldn't wait to walk down the halls at school, showing off my fresh ink. When someone would ask me "is that a real tattoo?", I'd light up like a tree on Christmas day. In my "Beavertonian" class, which was the school newspaper, one girl was complaining about the shirts I would wear to show off my tattoo. "She just wants people to see it", she whined. Was she jealous? I wasn't used to anyone being jealous of me, ever. So while I loved the attention I was getting, I also felt guilty? Now I know better. Now I only have tattoos with extreme meaning, and I proudly show them off, especially when I put so much thought and money into them. I didn't take proper care of my butterfly, imagine that, and now its old and faded. People have suggested that if I don't like it, I should get it covered up. I always think back to that day, when I was 16, and remember how badly I wanted it. I'd never be able to cover it up or remove it, because as embarrassing as my past might be, its a huge part of who I am.

Cleavage, drunk behavior, big hair. Later on, these were my more mature attempts at attention, that all worked in one way or another. However with those ones, I didn't usually realize what I was doing until I looked back on the particular day. I'm sure there are a billion more ridiculous things I've done on purpose, but I can't seem to remember any of them right now. They come to me at the most random of times. Something will trigger a memory, and I'll say "Oh wow, you know what I did one time?". Yep, I mainly use this blog to get embarrassing secrets and stories about myself off my chest. Please tell me I'm not the only crazy that has tried to break their own arm...

From top to bottom:
-"I'm the center of attention", by Meghcallie, $23.00.
-"adorable sad pink zombie teddy bear with scars, tears and broken arm", by JodiVonRotten, $50.00.
-"Stencil painting Dumplings original - no.4 of 6", by pamglew, $39.00.
-"Vintage TATTOO WOMEN Art Glass Pendant", by
ArchipelagoArts, $10.00.
-"Pink Tattoo Butterfly Wooden Pendant Necklace", by LiiLii, $9.00.


DesireeDesigns May 16, 2008 at 10:49 AM  

haha, awesome blog!
my first at 18 and two months was a ROSE on my left shoulder blade. yep. and no, i won't have it covered either. it reminds me where i've been ;)

Art Kitten May 16, 2008 at 11:35 AM  

Ok yep I have an embarrassing break story too, actually a couple of them. So I sprained my finger in fifth grade. I also wanted to be the girl who gets attention in the cast, so I thought if I broke my finger a step up from a sprain) I would also get attention so I did, and of course I didn't get a cast for it nor the attention. I was so disappointed. I was also jealous of the kids who got attention from nose bleeds. I am glad I am not alone in this!

BabyLyons May 16, 2008 at 12:01 PM  

you know i love your stories, you always make me smile :) can't believe you tried to break your arm with a bucket, lol

Rosebud Collection May 16, 2008 at 1:22 PM  

No matter where you have been, you are where you should be right now..
We have all done embarrassing things..heck, that is what makes you special..

Diana May 16, 2008 at 5:02 PM  

Well, my story is surprisingly similar to yours in some semblance. I tried to break my wrist when I was 12 and in the eighth grade. My motivation was trying to get out of something so mortifying it still makes me shudder.

The President's Fitness challenge.

When you're a fat kid, any mandatory physical fitness testing IN PUBLIC WHERE ALL PEERS ARE WATCHING is one of the inner rungs of hell. Going through it in the seventh grade, I gave myself one year to figure out how to get out of that public freeform torture again.

I enlisted my cousin's help the weekend before the testing. I was sleeping at her house. We took her curling iron, and just kept banging it against my wrist until it felt funny and went purple.

My mom was rightfully suspicious when I told her I banged it in the door. But I didn't have to do their God-forsaken testing, a fact I'm still proud of to this day. AND I got to wear a brace! Yay me!

Oh, honey. I've done the big hair/cleavage/drunken behavior to get attention thing for longer than you've been alive. Thankfully, I gave it up at 30. Mark my words: 30 is a pivotal year. Who you come out on the other side will always be better and brighter.

One day I'll have to whisper to you about my 30 year freakout. It was a whopper.


Memoirs of a Mental Mind May 18, 2008 at 11:19 PM are so funny....but no i actually have never broken anything, and never wanted first tattoo i thought about until i was 21, then got something really meaningful to me..i always wanted to make sure to get something i wouldn't regret. Besides i'm a late bloomer on most things anyway....thanx for the coomment on my page too by the way!! YEAH!! 2 weeks and counting til move day!! ;)

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