First, be born. But to be specific, be born into a family where someone somewhere once had Tourette’s, OCD, ADHD or something like that. Congratulations, you have a) been born, and b) inherited this gene. Both feats are highly unlikely, and yet you have achieved both without even trying.
Don’t worry though, you haven’t got Tourette’s yet. You’re just a baby. Fingers crossed, you may never get it. You might just keep the gene tucked away forever without anything happening. For now, it’s a waiting game. For now, all you have to do is grow up.
For reasons unknown to everyone – even the people who know lots about tics and Tourette’s and brains – if you do get the syndrome, it’s likely it will kick in age six or seven. But really, any age will do. Actually, let’s say you’re a lot older. Let’s say you’re about twenty when you can’t stop clacking your jaw and screwing up your eyes.
You don’t worry about it, though. The OCD you’ve had since forever is currently going haywire. You’re checking and touching and counting and this just feels like an unwelcome extension of that damned disorder. Your OCD makes you do things you don’t want to do, and your tics – which you don’t even know are tics yet – also make you do things you don’t want to do.
Months of jaw clacking, eye blinking and stomach clenching pass. Then, one morning, you’ve woken too early and you hear yourself say “bastard”. You didn’t want to say it, but you said it anyway. Felt your mouth make the shape. Heard your voice make the sound. Your heart sinks. You’ve done some googling about jaw clacking, eye blinking and stomach clenching and you have had your suspicions.
You do not want this to be happening, and yet it is.
From then on, it all gets worse. Pretty quickly, too. Soon enough, you can’t control what you’re saying or doing. It’s not nice. It’s like you’re a puppet being controlled by someone who doesn’t like you. The puppeteer wants to mortify you, hurt you, mock you, and you can do nothing but dance along to his games.
You see your GP to be referred to a neurologist, but the consultant you see is unfazed by your symptoms. All he says is what you already know: that you have Tourette’s. Tourette’s: the condition characterised by both vocal and physical tics. Tourette’s: the condition associated with ADHD and OCD and young boys. Tourette’s: the I’ve-heard-about-that, the I’ve-never-met-anyone- with-that, the ha-ha-ha-isn’t-that-the-swearing-thing.
“Do you have any questions?” he asks, after the briefest consultation known to man.
“Will it go away?” you ask.
“No,” he says.
Congratulations, you now have Tourette’s.
Go home and research the condition thoroughly even though you’ve already researched the condition thoroughly. Feel odd about the fact you’ve got Tourette’s thirteen years later than average. Feel like this means you can no longer call yourself a punctual person. Feel odd that most people don’t have the swearing variety of the condition and that you do. Feel like this means you can no longer call yourself a polite person. Feel odd about telling friends and family about your brand-new condition. Feel odd when they express pity. Feel odd when they express disbelief. Feel odd when they just laugh. Feel odd.
Now is the time to have a quiet crisis. One of the “what now?” variety.
In the meantime, tic, tic, tic, toc, toc, toc. Whistle your lips and click your tongue. Jazz your hands and flip your birds. Twist your legs and shake your arms. Swear. Echo.
In the meantime, graduate from university. Now is the time to have another quiet crisis – another one of the “what now?” variety. Find it hard to imagine a future of any sort, but go to job interviews anyway. Feel so much trepidation about them that you can’t sleep beforehand and you screw them all up. Receive the rejections with rage or dejection or absolutely nothing at all. Feel like you’re too weird to be employed. Feel hopeless.
Soon enough, it becomes abundantly clear that you are going to have to employ something called a sense of humour. After all, Tourette’s is a chronic, incurable condition. There is little point raging against it. You find yourself telling little kids they are little shits, blowing kisses to complete strangers, and calling cashiers twats. It’s embarrassing, but it’s funny.
So laugh a bit, when you can. But only a bit. Because, after all, it’s only funny to an extent, and tics are more often than not annoying or painful or awkward. You smash up your hand, you smash up the window, you hit your head, you slap your face, and you can’t walk that well. None of this merits any laughter.
In the meantime, find out that Tourette’s is like the moon: it waxes and wanes, comes and goes. During one of these deliciously quiet phases, pounce, run away, and get a job.
After much debate, tell colleagues and bosses why you whistle all the time. Explain the Tourette’s will get worse at some point, and when it does, when you’re ticcing all the time and can’t stop making all manner of odd sounds, when you can’t stop jumping or shouting out the c-word in front of customers, carry on regardless. Carry on with: “A chuckle and a shrug,” your colleague says. “You deal with your condition with a chuckle and a shrug.”
Think this is apt. Think that you do indeed treat Tourette’s with a chuckle and a shrug. Think that this is the only way you can think of having Tourette’s right now. But also think that, even if you live until you are two hundred years old, you will never quite know how to have Tourette’s.