Some of the Funniest Tics I’ve Had:
- I am at Christmas party in the presence of my boss’ boss’ boss – an elegantly dressed American millionaire – and tell her that she is, in no uncertain terms, “a low-calorie bitch”.
- I am on a Tinder date and stroke the face of the other person before I have a chance to introduce myself.
- It’s my first day of work, and I say to my manager, “I’m going to fucking kill you, you little bitch”.
- I am closing down the bar, as the last customers leave, say: “You’re all dead inside and drink to fill the void.”
- “You’re a bitch,” I tic to my three-year-old niece. “I’m not a bitch,” she replies, quite rightly too.
Some of the Least Funny Tics I’ve Had:
- It’s snowing in London. The pavements are icy and I have to walk from the bus stop to my flat. It’s now that my Tourette’s decides now to stop me walking. My knees buckle and my legs jerk. It’s a miracle I don’t fall and hurt myself. I creep my way back home, clinging on to walls, too stubborn to take a taxi. The ten-minute journey takes half an hour.
- I am at work behind the till. I take a sharp intake of breath, then another, then another. I vaguely wonder if this is a panic attack. But it’s not. This is just my Tourette’s deciding that I’m not going to breathe that day.
- I am in hospital and my whole body is shaking. “Is she having a seizure?” a nurse asks.
- I am in my flat, relaxing. Suddenly, my fist clenches and punches the wall. In the days that follow, I punch the wall innumerable times. In the months that follow, I break three windows.