Tourettic

Tourette Syndrome (TS) is a life-long, neurodevelopmental disorder that affects nearly 1 million people in the US. Fifty percent of people with TS go undiagnosed, and there is no cure. TS causes involuntary actions --movements, sounds, and phrases-- called “tics” that make everyday life a struggle. I am one of the million.

Some examples of tics include: Shoulder shrugging, neck jerking, arm flailing, eye-rolling, squeaking, throat clearing, and shouting. Tics can be obscene, offensive, or socially inappropriate. A person with TS can say something rude during a conversation that seems in context but is actually a tic. Tics are specific to the person and can be interpreted as purposefully annoying --instead of as an uncontrollable symptom of an illness.

My poetry consists of either tics I’ve had or examples of challenges I face due to my TS. Some of my poetry is humorous, a great coping mechanism. Some of it is a bit more serious to show the severity of the symptoms, and the emotions that come with TS.

There is a stigma surrounding this disorder. The media often inaccurately portrays TS as the "Swearing Disease" when, in fact, only about 10% of people with TS have swearing tics. TV uses it as a punchline, and even politicians have been known to use it as a putdown. Until society changes its attitude toward TS, we can never truly break free from the stigma. I hope that my poetry can shed some light on what life can really be like with Tourette Syndrome.

I go to the fridge. Don’t get into the fridge. Don’t punch the fridge. I grab the eggs. Don’t throw the eggs. Don’t crush the eggs. Crack I clean the eggs up off the floor. I start again. I get new eggs. Don’t throw the eggs. Don’t crush the eggs. Tics can impact any aspect of life. Even simple tasks. I crack the eggs into the bowl. Don’t throw the bowl. I get the whisk and beat the eggs. Don’t fling the whisk. Don’t lick the whisk. I pour the eggs into the pan. Don’t touch the hot pan. Don’t touch the hot pan. DON’T...

Ouch

I get ice and wrap a bandage around my hand. I keep cooking.

The eggs are done.

I put the eggs on a plate. Don’t drop the plate. Don’t smash it. I go sit down to eat the eggs. I think I finally did it.

Swipe Crash

I clean the eggs up off the floor.

I start again.

I go to the fridge. Don’t get into the fridge. Don’t punch the fridge. g I grab the eggs. Don’t... Don’t… Don’t…

Tourette can be terrifying. The uncertainty of it. Not knowing what will come out of my mouth, or when it'll happen. Not knowing if I'll be able to suppress it. Not knowing what will happen if I can't.

Waiting at the TSA checkpoint. Passport in hand, backpack in tow. I look

like everyone else there. I’m going through the motions, but my mind is

full of nothing but fear. Not of flying, but of the four words shouting in

my brain, fighting to get out.

My mind doesn’t concern itself with all the little details of travel. “Do I

have to take my shoes off?”, “Is this more than 3.4 oz?”, “Did I get the

loose change out of my pockets?”. The thoughts that consume me, that fill

me with panic and dread, “Will I be interrogated? Tackled? Assaulted?

Shot?”, “What will happen if I let the words slip out?”.

The words don’t reflect what I feel, or who I am. They’re the product of a

blip. A misfire in the brain. It forces me to bend to its will. Making me say

the last thing I would want to say. It fights until I can’t. And then it

breaks free.

It breaks free with the last words anyone would ever want to utter in an

airport. “I have a bomb.”

One of my former tics

Tchaikovsky’s cornucopia of d**ks I found it pretty funny

Strangers...not so much

Squeak Hoot Gasp Honk Quack Snort Wheeze Tics. Sometimes they're noises. Other times they're inappropriate phrases. Ya never know. Patrick is a cheese puff! Patrick is an ass! Patrick is a green bean! I’m kicked out of class.

No matter how many times you try to explain it to someone, (even teachers) sometimes they just don't get it... or they just don't care enough to try.