It’s when they stare. Or ask if I’m okay. It’s not always a comfortable type of question as one might think it would be. Or relieving in a sense, so to speak. The constant batting of the eyes. Or the most exaughsting of them all, the shoulder shrug. The tip of my shoulder HAS to touch my ear. A few times per minute. A couple stares and I feel the attention being drawn to myself. I look at them and they quickly glance away. As soon as I turn away, I know they come back for one more glare. Yes, it’s Tourette’s. Not always the most pleasant thing to tell people. Although, I can get a few kicks out of it once in awhile. I use to feel ashamed of it. Between each word I spoke there was a whistle. I remember one time I was so wound up and I said “I (whistle) am so (whistle) MAD RIGHT NOW.” Of course my family couldn’t help but giggle. Which at the time only made me hotter. Now I use it to cope. I am aware my ticks are there. Some try and point it out and say “you know your twitching right?” Trust me, if someone is obsessively blinking, they know they are. And don’t need anyone to point it out for them. That can get quite agitating at points. There’s a large stigma stuck to Tourette’s. In the beginning it was hard dealing with that. I realized instead of being so ashamed and worried about each individual tick, suppressing it only makes it worse. And by making fun of it, Somewhat releases the urge to continue it for minutes at a time. Granted I have my moments. I’ve learned to put my Tourette’s into perspective, though it had taken some time to achieve. Someone who had diabetes needs their insulin. Well, if you have Touretts sometimes you just need to “tick”. And that’s for a lot of things. Putting that into perspective had gotten me through a lot of tough times of feeling sorry for myself, haha. Being able to get through anything wether it be a hard day or a illness, creating a way of coping is a major motivator. Seeing how you feel after you cope, and compared to how you feel before you cope makes a large difference. It takes times to build what works for you. Everyone is different, but overtime it develops. We all have struggles. Who’s to say mine is harder than yours? Nobody. Everyone has their own struggles and it’s just as real for them as anyone’s else. As well as being entitled to those feelings. But the way we chose to deal with it is what makes the most impact. Not only on ourselves, but others around us.
Often I think I’ll forever be trapped within my fear. Not to get a job because I can’t set aside my own fear of comparison from myself to another. Or never To get married cause I can’t shake the feeling of them leaving me, or them being with anyone else besides myself. Holding back the the few words of passive aggressiveness just waiting to spew out of my mouth to release my hidden insecureties within the words. Only as a cry for help. Fear of waking up in the morning because I know even when I look in the mirror and smile, the thoughts strap me down telling me I’m worth nothing and I’m just the monster on the outside, as I am on the inside. Being weak, I turn out the light to get ready. Only to see the outline of my shadow curling a strip of hair. So I don’t see the flaws within myself. I feel the midst of the brand named perfume stick to my skin. I wipe my cheek from the last streak of tears to fall from my face.
Often trapped within my own fear.
My father always by my side. Sneaking me downstairs for a hug after a long trip from work. Him painting my nails when I was five, somehow better than my mother was at doing a five year old girls obsession. Holding his hand as we watch the oldest looney tune episodes over and over again. Laughing each time just as hard as if it were the first time. That’s how I remember him. Him walking in my room at night to sit at the edge of the bed and unscrew his carmex and apply it as I reminisced on ridiculous times to stall the nightly routine of him kissing my forehead only to turn out the lights for the night. That’s how I choose to remember him, because the man he is now isn’t the man I knew. Not the father I ONCE knew. Along the way of the pain and grieving of our family misfortune, he drownded the man he once was within the lost counted amount of bottles. I know he is still in there. From time to time I see him surface. The man who held my hand and once told me I was his world.
No matter what you did, or where you went, you never fully got rid of them. Because the worst fears were inside of you the entire time. The words, the poison that seeps through MY veins. The only antidote is to acknowledge them. The worst part is knowing they are there. Blaming them on everything underneath the sun, but when the only thing responsible is within you. That’s the most painful part. You can keep your guns and bombs it’s the words that kill me.
I was going to do my next article about healthy vending until I had a disturbing conversation with a friend at a party last night.
I was made aware of a twitter account that appears to no longer be in use but is still floating around in cyber space. The account was created by a few girls who wanted to peg classmates as whores and the expletive language holds nothing back. It is raw and does a good job of competing with the choicest language from any XXX web site or publication. It’s shocking and depressing content and what’s worse is that I recognized some of the names of the followers and tweeters. Good kids with engaged parents living in my own neighborhood. Some are even educators.
I don’t know why I’m so shocked. With 2 years under my belt working on student wellness issues you would think that I…
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