I'm Kim and I have what you might call a weird addiction. I guess you would call it an addiction. Maybe it's a compulsion. I don't know what it is. I just know it's pretty crazy and it's kind of ruining my life. It all started back in second grade. This kid dared me to eat dirt and I did it. Next thing, she dared me to eat a worm. I did that too. I kind of developed a reputation as someone who would do anything anybody dared me to. I don’t know if it was like I have to prove something by showing people that I will do anything and won’t back away from a dare or what, but I know there is something in my brain that tells me if someone issues a dare, I have to do it. That was the first time I remember it, was in second grade, but it hasn’t stopped since then.
For years I kept doing this. I would do any stupid thing someone dared me to. It got me in a lot of trouble at home and school, and pretty much anywhere I went. I got banned from Wal-Mart because of a “shoplifting dare” when I was 12. I almost got kicked out of middle school three times because of this. Somebody dared me to pants the science teacher. Somebody else dared me to pull a fire alarm. And then there was the thing with the bottle rockets--I’m not going to go into that one. The point is, I did all kinds of really stupid things and messed up my life, but I couldn’t say no.
Now that I'm a teenager, it's a lot different and a lot worse. Once I get my driver’s license, one of my idiot friends will probably dare me to drive with my eyes closed or something stupid like that, and we’ll all die. Seriously, that’s the kind of thing I worry about. I know it sounds stupid. I know you’re thinking “Just don’t do it.” I wish it was that easy. I feel like I have some curse that forces me to do things I don’t want to if someone tells me to. I guess it’s some psychological disorder or something. I just know I can’t seem to control it and it’s like I’m some carnival attraction. People come up with the craziest things they can think of to get me to do and everyone stands around watching and recording with their phones while they laugh at the stupid girl that does whatever you tell her.
It went from dancing to I dare you to make out with that guy, to I dare you to make out with that girl, make out with your sister, make out with that oil painting of George Washington. I might have made some of those up, or not, doesn’t matter, point is, well, you get the point. It got crazy quick. Of course, most of the guys were like “I dare you to take off your top.” stuff like that. They are so predictable. Then there was one guy, well, we ended up in a room alone, and I’ll put it like this, I did a lot of things in there. Now, some of that might not really count because I liked him and probably would have done most of it anyway, but still, doing anything a guy “dares” you too can’t be healthy.
But then the night ended with one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever experienced. So, the girl whose house we were at always has to kick things up a notch, So she comes up with this dare to take my clothes off, make a whipped cream bikini and go for a jog around the block. It kind of didn’t sound that bad. I wouldn’t be running through the neighborhood totally naked. I would be wearing whipped cream at least. Of course, I take the dare.
I remember the feeling like it was yesterday. It was a nice evening for a jog. The weather was good, not too cold. I felt nervous but somehow free maybe because I had come to terms with the fact that I had completely lost my damn mind. Anyway, In all my whipped cream glory, I ran past three houses and made a left. I was going to circle all the way around the block and come back up on the other side of the house. I wasn’t too worried. It was late, nobody was probably out. It turns out it was more like nobody but Mrs. Flieschman out walking her dog. I just covered my face and pretended to be invisible as I rounded another corner. I felt like I was about to break through the tape victorious at the finish line of a race as I was approaching the house. I came to an immediate stop when I saw the front of the house.
Parked outside, were three cop cars. I guess there was a noise complaint and once they found out it was a bunch of high-schoolers drinking, they shut the whole thing down. The good news, They didn’t see me. The bad news. My clothes were inside, I couldn’t get to them, and my bikini was starting to melt. More good news. I only lived a couple of blocks away. I ran for it. After taking the backroads and cutting through a few yards, I made it home. More bad news though, My dad (who thought I was studying) locked the door, and my keys were in my pocket, you know, in the clothes I didn’t have.
About halfway back, my dad pulls up, throws some clothes at me and says “get in the car.”
Long story short, I don’t go to parties anymore, and I start therapy Monday.
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