I took myself out to dinner and movies repeatedly on Valentine's day, made a comfy corner in the closet to hide from my family and celebrate Christmas alone, went to a different city 4 hours away alone to go feed animals in a sanctuary and ride a ferris wheel on my 24 birthday, but one thing trumps it all.
Making up an imaginary group of friends in high school. I really enjoyed imagining their personalities, life circumstances, antics we could get to together, sometimes I would tell my family about them even though they were never really paying attention to my stories. I would claim I hang out with my friends nearly every day when in reality I was spending hours sitting under a bridge alone just to get away from my family and from bullies that lived nearby. The cherry on top was my sixteenth birthday: my aunt was visiting at the time and she was more of a helicopter parent type of a person, so when I said I am going to party with my friends all day she asked me to give her a number of one of them, just in case. Uh-oh. I was telling my family about them for over a year by that point, there was no way I could confess they didn't exist at all. I refused and my family explained it with a million of different reasons, from me being a spiteful little shit that rebels for no reason, to me doing drugs with my friends, to me secretly sleeping with random men instead of hanging out with friends. I don't think any of them could guess the true reason, they don't know to this day. A massive fight erupted and I ended up spending my entire birthday crying my eyes out while my family kept insulting and attacking me.
So whenever anyone tells me they are embarrassed about their teenage years, I just chuckle to myself, because I don't think anyone can possibly be more pathetic than me in my teen years.