I Talk Shit

profanity

I am part of a very elite group. No, I do not have an American Express platinum card, nor have I ever been part of the Bullingdon Club, or a member the House of Lords. Instead, I am one of the people with Tourette’s that actually swear.

And this is quite an exclusive group. Estimates vary, but anywhere between 10 and 25 percent of those with the condition experience coprolalia – the jargon term for the compulsion to say socially inappropriate phrases which pleasingly translates as “talking shit”.

“You have all the symptoms,” my consultant once told me. “All of them.”

The consultant was right. In addition to experiencing coprolalia, I have echolalia (the compulsion to repeat what others have said), echopraxia (the compulsion to imitate the gestures of others), palilalia (the compulsion to repeat what I’ve just said), and klazomania (the compulsion to shout).

And although all of these tics can be, in their own special way, a complete pain in the arse, it’s the coprolalia that does rather take the piss.

However, the phenomenon is widely misunderstood. Often, for me at least, coprolalia doesn’t even entail any cursing. Often, it’s just about being goddam rude.

For example, I regularly inform the people of the London Underground that they’re walking too slowly, and tell them to “come on” or “hurry up”. Loud people, on the other hand, will inevitably get a “shhh!” from me, and people who randomly stop at the top of escalators will be sure to receive a “MOVE!”.

Unsurprisingly, these tics can and do get me into pickles. Disgruntlement follows me wherever I go. Sometimes, people get so cross they say something. In these situations, my heart pounds. Sometimes, I leg it with my head down. Other times, I try to explain.

It’s these tics – the tics which make me tell strangers that they’re too noisy, too slow, too clumsy, or too much of a nuisance, that are far more awkward than any of the run of the mill, everyday swearing that comes out of my mouth. For example, if I randomly yell “SHIT” in a coffee shop, the general public will assume I’m a) mental, b) have Tourette’s, or c) have become very loudly and suddenly distressed. However, if I tell a dad pushing a pram to “HURRY UP” (which, mortifyingly, I did yesterday), the general public will assume I am a) goddam rude, b) goddam rude, or c) goddam rude.

These tics are also a bit awkward in the way that, unlike any of my other tics, they are actually indicative of what I’m thinking. If I let out a “bastard”, a “lemon” or a “pasta”, I am not actually thinking of bastards, lemons or pasta. However, if you just stop randomly at the top of the escalator with a queue of people behind you, and I tic at you “MOVE!”, I really do want you to move. Because it just doesn’t make sense to stop at the top of an escalator. You’re in everyone’s way.

Questions People Ask When I Tell Them I Have Tourette’s

  • What’s that?
    People ask me this so often it’s a wonder why I haven’t memorised a paragraph explaining what Tourette’s is. Anyway, Tourette’s Syndrome, or, for the acronym-prone amongst us, TS, is a neurological condition which causes those with it to experience tics – involuntary rapid movements (called motor tics), and involuntary sounds, words, and sentences (called vocal tics). Tics can be painful, embarrassing, or, more often than not, just a total pain in the arse.
  • How does your Tourette’s manifest?
    Tics change all the time, and everyone’s Tourette’s is different, but right now my motor tics include head nodding, eye rolling, eye scrunching, eye shutting, eye darting, cheek slapping, head hitting, tongue sticking, air blowing, head jerking, head banging, finger flicking, hand punching, bird flipping, jazz handing, stomach clenching, knee buckling, leg twisting, feet twisting, and feet kicking. In addition, I also experience echopraxia: the compulsion to imitate the movements and gestures of others.
    As for my vocal tics, they include grunting, whistling, clicking, “lemon”, “lemons”, “lemongrass”, “you’re a fuckface and I hate you”, “you’re so weird” “you’re a *insert literally any expletive here*”, “you’re a *insert literally any random word here*”, “you’re so weird”, “come on”, “you’re walking too slowly”, “move” and “hey”. In addition, I experience echolalia: the compulsion to repeat what has just been said, palilalia: the compulsion to repeat what I’ve just said, and klazomania: the compulsion to shout.
  • When did you get it?
    Normally people get Tourette’s age six or seven, but I developed it at the grand old age of twenty-one. My first tics were clacking my jaw and screwing up my eyes. In the year that followed, the symptoms got progressively worse. Eventually, I was swearing which was when I knew for sure that I had Tourette’s.
  • How do people get even Tourette’s?
    Tourette’s is this complicated neurological thing which no really understands yet. It’s got something to do with dopamine and the basal ganglia, the thalamus and frontal cortex parts of the brain. It is linked to conditions like OCD, ADHD, and Autism Spectrum Disorder, and is genetic.
  • Is there a treatment?
    Yes, but there is no cure, just some medications and therapies which can alleviate some of the symptoms. However, the medicines used are basically second-hand, as they are really intended for schizophrenia and other psychotic disorders. Unfortunately, these drugs come with a lot of side effects, and so for many people with Tourette’s, they just aren’t worth it. That said, for some people they work really well. It’s all a bit of a guessing game.
  • What’s the worst things you’ve ever said or done?
    Just a load of c-words really, but during my final year of university I had a Spanish oral exam during which I could’t stop blowing my examiners kisses. It was pretty awkward.
  • Do you ever say anything rude, and just pretend it’s a tic to get away with it?
    I get this one a lot, and the answer is no, no I don’t.
  • Really? Seriously? You’re not fucking with me? You actually have Tourette’s?
    If I am going through a quiet patch, this is the normal reaction. Or else, they’ll ask me if I have really mild Tourette’s (which I don’t). Many people don’t know that Tourette’s is a condition that waxes and wanes. People with it can go through months where their tics are so severe they are disabling, and months were their tics are so mild you can barely notice them.
  • Haha.
    This is frustrating response, given that I’ve just told you about my disability and not cracked one of my many brilliant jokes. Yes, some of my tics are funny, and yes, in those situations, it’d be weird not to chuckle. But if I haven’t ticced anything amusing, if I’ve literally just told you about my Tourette’s, then please don’t laugh. Wait for a good tic to laugh. It won’t be long, I promise. Think about it, if I just told you I had dyslexia or autism, would your immediate response be to laugh? No. Because these things aren’t funny, and neither is Tourette’s.  

Tourette’s Broke My Window

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.

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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.