The summer before 7th grade I broke arm, pretty bad, they called it a compound fracture.
All I know is both bones in my left arm broke through the skin, and wrapped around the outer part of the trampoline, it was gross.
Blood just everywhere.
I was at my aunt's house and had spent a week pretending, several times[ probably at least 10 times] that I had broke bones, I'd either scream about my leg or back, or coincidentally my arm and watch my aunt and her family run to my aid, and just burst into laughter. I was a little shit and they were sick of it. So when I actually broke my arm, my screams for help would go unnoticed but I knew I wouldn't get any help. As I'm unwrapping my arm from the outer metal ring a man, who was a ER doctor and next door neighbor, ran into the backyard with a bandage wrap and hard brace thing, to help me get the bones set, that's when my cousins and aunt came out, screaming about God and how harshly he teaches[everyone in my family is uber religious, I was walking away from religion at that time, accepting the only thing I felt was religious, Nature + Kindness + Loving Myself, knew that their ridiculous behavior was not getting excused by an invisible man and it wasn't "God" who teaching me a lesson, I was crying wolf.] I knew that karma had caught up to me, and that Karma was the most patient gangster of all time.
And it was my time.

By that point I had already developed characteristics that professional's would call "coping mechanisms". Watching my narcissistic mother down massive amounts of booze made me want to feel like she looked while drunk.
My surgery would introduce me to Vicodin, I had never taken a tylenol before but the doctor thought vicodin was just the best solution to pain I never expressed having.
I took that painkiller and I...