physically or emotionally?

Parents told me I’m the cause of all their problems.

1970s, uk, aged around 4 or 5, walking down the stairs carrying a glass when I tripped, Cut my right hand up pretty bad. My mum wrapped my hand in a towel and rushed me to a nearby army base where the medic did an effective but clumsy job of stitching me up - I still have a big scar but no movement damage.

I have no memory of it, but my father certainly does. When he came home from work to find the house with its doors wide open, blood everywhere, and nobody around, he kind of freaked out.

Made an awkward turn while playing and had a knee subluxation. Brief agony until I “popped” it back in and insisted I was fine. Limped around for the rest of the day, hurt for the rest of the week. For several years after, it would randomly happen again, though less severe, quicker to recover, and less frequent between incidents. Didn’t bother to get it checked out since I heard any significant knee surgery would take me out of commission for some months. I’m still not sure if I’m completely over it yet. God forbid it happens to me on the stairs

Worst I hurt myself: Older, much larger cousin broke my leg by landing on it in a bouncy castle.

Injury that pissed me off the most: At 13, I loved jiujitsu and rock climbing above all else. At my last jiujitsu class before going to California to, among other things, go bouldering in Joshua Tree, I sliced my heel badly on the metal bottom of the dojo door that had about an inch and a half of clearance from the floor.

Shoes in general, let alone those super-tight climbing shoes, were out of the question for two weeks. I’m still mad. Of all the ways I could’ve got hurt, it was the fucking door on the way out that took me down.

Went over a jump in my bike (not motorized). Got a nice amount of air time. Lost the bike. Bike went side ways. I was spread eagle over the bike. My nuts hit the something hard.

My chest hit the handle bars. Caved the chest a bit.

Tried to stop a garage door of close up and broke my arm.

I broke my wrist sledding in the winter. Because I grew up in a rural area I had to wait 8 hours for a surgeon to come to the hospital I went to.

My parents had a caravan when I was like 4 years old. Ran into it full speed, hit my head hard. I had an anger attack because blood was coming out of my head, my parents got a heart attack because of all the blood.

Another one would be when I found out I needed glasses. At school, at the gym class, we were playing around as a warming up.

I ran after a ball, and hit one of those horizontal bars you can do tricks on. Full speed, nose first. That hurt for a couple of days. Spent the rest of the class holding my nose closed because I was bleeding a lot.

Tripped and fell while playing basketball on a rough asphalt court skid like 3 ft on my face scrapped and peeled 80% of my face and got grains of asphalt stuck in my face. To the point they couldn’t get them all out and took a chunk out of my nose.

10 years old, playing at a friend’s house whose backyard woods had a creek running through them. We were jumping off a small bridge into the shallow creek and I landed funny on sandbar and felt a little pop in my foot. I jumped a few more times before the pain prevented me from continuing. At the doctor the next day, I was told that I came very close to entirely breaking my growth plate.

Bike riding in the 80s and jumping ramps, the slope was too high and sent the bike upward so I let go (bad plan) and supermanned myself across the pavement on my chest. I had vertical road rash stripes all down my front.

I placed my entire hand on a hot iron. For more than a few seconds - super dumb and ignorant.

Ended up having my entire hand wrapped in bamdages.

Take your pick:

3 years old I took a corner to fast at Mervins and almost took out my right eye on a glass shelf, 2 stitches.

6 years old I tried to do a backwards wheelie on my bike by jamming my foot in the front fork… while going down hill and carrying a load of oranges in my shirt. Went right over the handlebars, came to a stop on my chin. 13 stitches.

[…] I really wanted a broken arm, so people could sign my cast, but I never quite managed to break anything.

I was 11 or so, on holiday, went horseback riding wearing shorts and thin socks. They set up my stirrups too low and as I held on to the saddle for dear life, one stirrup kept bouncing on my ankle for the entire afternoon.

My thighs chafed pretty bad, and I got an open wound on my ankle about the size of those souvenir pressed oval coins. I don’t know what my dad was thinking, but he treated my wound with some cream and then wrapped my whole calf in plastic wrap every day for about a week.

The wound turned into an ulcer, I couldn’t walk without limping. I had all these little pockets of pus on the edges which my dad had me squeeze to try and make them smaller. It did nothing except be painful.

I eventually went home to my mom - a nurse - who took one look at my leg and rushed me to a doctor.

The doctor then proceeded to vigorously clean my wound before dressing it. It felt like hot barbed wire, that really sucked.

I still have the oval scar on my ankle.