"So what do you have again?" Anna asks me, offering me a cookie.
"OCTD. Obsessive-Compulsive Tic Disorder. It's a branch of Tourette." I take a chocolate chip cookie from the box.
I avoid telling this to many people, but Anna is my friend and I don't want to hide it from her.
"Tourette? Isn't that the thing where you swear a lot?"
"Not necessarily-"
"Cause you don't swear at all! Come on, you don't have anything!"
I sigh and try to stay calm. After all I've been through, someone telling me I don't have anything just..really ticks me off.
I let out a high pitched sound.
Anna puts the book of cookies down and clears her throat.
"Look, you just have to control it."
"I am TRYING! " I think, trying not to scream in frustration. I tell this to myself every day, I don't need other people telling me this as well.
"It doesn't work that way," I say, taking a cookie and biting into it, stifling a yawn. It's only 4 in the afternoon, but again, the medication makes me extremely tired. All I want to do is sleep, even though I don't do anything all day. I dropped out of choir and dance, I don't want to bother them with my tics.
"Oh come on. It's all about willpower. I had this tic once about blinking differently, but when people told me about it, I just controlled myself. It's not that hard, just try."
I drop my cookie on the floor.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, let me clean it up," I say quickly.
I bend down under the table, trying not to explode. It's not her fault. She doesn't understand. She probably never will unless she experiences it herself. Which I really hope doesn't happen. I don't wish this to anyone. Not even to Satan's-henchman-Gabriel.
"I have to go," I say, putting the crumbs back on the plate.
"What?" Anna asks, clearly confused. "But you just got here!"
I don't answer as I pick up my bag and go out the door, ignoring Anna's shouts, silent tears going down my face. I'm not mad at her. I just need some time alone.
No, I don't actually do that. This is not a cheesy movie.
I just continue talking, smiling, like nothing is wrong.
I let out a high pitched sound.
This is my condition. Too noticeable to be ignored, but not severe enough to be taken seriously.
YOU ARE READING
The Tourette Diaries
Non-Fiction"This is Lyla Green. She is 16 years old, tall, and has long brown hair. She is pretty shy but very caring and creative." This is how a person would describe me normally. The usual. General facts, appearance, and personality traits. "This is Lyla Gr...
