Tourette’s
uncontrollable
loud inside stares from outside
Suffering from inflated embarrassment and shame
Unknown, only known by me
suppressed until I cannot anymore
I am not my tics, but they are in me
they follow me, poke me jabbing to be included in my life
sudden, and uncomfortable they feel extreme
I blink excessively to shrug off the tickle in my brain
My shoulder seizes and jerks back in forth up and down
With no warning, I start to yell or grunt, scared of my excessive tics
I cry afterwards full of shame and misery
Hands start to flail as I rock back and forth
back and forth back and forth, I’m okay I am going to be okay
Comfort in the uncomfortable knowing my secret that cannot be exposed in my own company
but what about when there are others around me,
I hope no one noticed and I feel like a failure once again
I suppress when others are around and free my spirit when alone
I look at myself and my face contorts until it feels correct and the tics are over
Until next time I feel the uncontrollable
nonstop
smothering
repressed
constraint of my tics

"Tick, tick, tick,"
The little watch shouts.
He sits inside my pocket
And awaits me drawing him out.

Tic, tic, tic
It's time for me to rest.
Society and anxiety
Give me too much stress.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
His voice puts me to sleep.
I love his perfect rhythms-
The perfect time he keeps.

Tic, tic, tic
The second I put him away,
The vicious tics come back
I wish they wouldn't stay.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
Directly into my ear.
The only way to stay 'normal'
Is through the rhythm I hear.

Tic, tic, tic
Whenever I am stressed,
The painful tics come back
And cannot be suppressed.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
The second-hand marches on.
Enduring all his hardships,
He's rewound every dawn.

Tic, tic, tic
My fists are bruised and aching.
"What a crazy spaz"
Society's gaze is saying.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
My lovely watch proclaims.
I whisper the rhythm back;
The perfection keeps me sane.

- - -

I need my pocket watch beside me.
Though it may not seem I do.
You simply do not understand
The troubles I'm pushing through.

The terrible sounds and motions
Are so very, very draining.
The worry to always suppress,
Wears out by the day's ending.

My watch sits beside me,
Ticking as I write this
(Ticking so I don't have to),
And reading as a witness.

I breathe in until I feel like my lungs might explode. I tighten my neck muscels and before I can think - My entire body is tense.

I'm trying to supress it. It has ruined so much but I will not let it ruin another moment...
I grind my teeth trying to supress it further, not realizing that grinding my teeth ... was a tic too.

Letting my mind slip for a second; I come to find that I have failed - once again
I flick my head, blink my eyes violently - turning the day into a stop motion movie - Once again I already know the plot.

Everything is moving in slowmotion around me - my body moving too fast to hold it in I fail - once again my body is dancing to a beat that is not mine.

I feel the pain in my neck. It is sore from giving into the neverending urge - once again it is strained from constant twitching and has been for god knows how long.

I try to ignore the pain and focus on supressing what's coming next, but being distracted by the pain I fail - once again I flick my head and exhale as fast as humanly possible. The exhale doesn't come alone - it never does. A pallette of sounds escape my mouth.

It was not me making those sounds, but the lungs affected by the pain are mine.
I feel the cycle starting over - once again.

It goes through me like a wave of energy.
I have been robbed of the control over my own body - once again.
The power to fight back has ... vanished.

I go to bed early but sleep late; battling this force with every shard of energy I could possibly have left - Once again leaving me exhausted enough to finally sleep, despite the constant twitching.

They say it's a chemical imbalance in my brain.
Too much dopamine is released.
As far as I'm concerned dopamine is a "Feel good hormone", so why does it make me so miserable?

I lay here thinking about when this cycle will end?
And when it finally does end, when will it restart? - Once again...

“Pop”

My hands are out of control,
my mouth is going POP-PPP!
Anxiety is swallowing me whole,
and my mind is a hole I’m trapped in.

You’re just doing that.
You’re copying, mimicking, mocking.
Nothing is wrong with you.
No, no, no. Nothing.
Pop.

I can’t tell anyone but two.
I’m alone and scared and shaking.
Anxiety is making it (POP) worse.
My hands are flying and I’m crying,
and I know I’ll go and research.

Tics can be verbal or physical.
POP, Wax, arms and wrists, clap, shake. Pain.
Words like anxiety, chronic, syndrome, POP out at me.
Symptoms call me down to two tic disorders.
And until my parents belive me, I’m falling, falling, falling,
Falling into anxiety’s cold grasp.


Pop.