Tourette’s has taught me a few things. Most of these centre around what you’d expect: the general lack of awareness surrounding the condition, people’s differently weird reactions to tics, the fact that lots of people don’t get that Tourette’s is a disability, not a punchline.
But, recently, Tourette’s has also taught me that glaziers in London are really expensive, that Januarys are really cold, and that items you’d expect to be really breakable are actually really strong, and items which should be strong are actually really breakable.
This is because, in the past few weeks, seemingly for no particularly reason at all, my Tourette’s has decided I need to be punching walls, mirrors, my face, and, crucially, windows.
This wouldn’t be a problem were it not for the fact that hitting hurts and punching breaks things. So far, the main casualties have been one window pane and my right hand.
Frustratingly, normal self-care is all but useless. For example, in order to soothe my hand, I soaked it for a while in ice water. However, during the soaking, my Tourette’s decided to lift my arm out and whack it against the wall near me, undoing all the good the ice water would have done.
As a consequence of my punching tic, recently, a lot of people have told me to ‘take care’ or to ‘look after myself’. But how do you take care when you have a condition that makes you say and do things that are beyond your control? The way I look at it, I’m not even the one punching the walls, my Tourette’s is. I can’t help it. All of this is involuntary, and unless I am locked away in a padded room, there isn’t a way I’m not going to somehow hurt myself.
Unsurprisingly, these self-injurious tics have been a little frustrating. But the changeable nature of Tourette’s will no doubt work in my favour. In a few weeks, the glazier will have come and gone, my hand will have calmed down, and there will be little to no trace of the punching tic that is currently bothering me.
In the meantime, I’ve found a compromise between wrapping myself in cotton wool and locking myself in a padded room: padded gloves. They’re not very attractive, but they do the job.