Started small. I was 20 when I started to blink quickly, tilt my head and tremble as if someone had jumped into a corner to scare me.
After a while I could not last for five minutes without the paradoxical impulse of movement and at the same time prayed to be calm. Walking in the car means constantly lathering, punching the chest, accidentally shrugging, frowning. Food is a completely separate battle: the gnashing of my grinding teeth, the plates with knives and knives, my English Bulldog moaning under the table, my Labrador Retriever’s bark, their grinding and strong toys, loading tools. sink. I started eating alone at home to avoid being bullied by friends or family.
I had elevated feelings as if the noise of the world was thundering and I was the only one hearing. Once, in a restaurant, in a crowded room, a piece of silver fell to the floor behind the kitchen. At the sound of the bell I jumped in my seat, startled, no one noticed, and I was instead worried.
The tiny sounds I had never heard in my ear before became excruciating: the crackle of paper straws, the faint hum of fluorescent light, the drumming of fingers on the table, the thumping of keys. It all happened to me at once.
My therapist repeatedly diagnosed me with mild obsessive-compulsive disorder (along with other neurological diagnoses of attention deficit / hyperactivity disorder, dyscalculia, and Asperger’s syndrome) in sessions, but I always try to find other explanation for my behavior.
Before waking up from the MRI at the hospital.
“The patient is suffering from severe tics,” the nurse said in a voice.
I needed sedation throughout the procedure, otherwise a rhythmically loud beep would be painful. Even though I wasn’t awake, I whispered “No ticks”.
I opposed this idea for months after it was offered to me by a close family friend who specializes in autism over the phone in my original stage. Instead, we called them “myoclonic seizures,” according to a study by a neurologist. It seems easier to believe that a diagnosis like epilepsy caused me problems rather than a mental health problem.
According to the UK National Health Service, tics are rapid, repetitive movements of muscles that cause sudden, difficult to control vibrations or sounds in the body. There is no reason for ticks. These are often associated with Tourette’s syndrome. However, OCD, ADHD, and autism spectrum disorders are known to cause them. They are exacerbated by stress and lack of sleep. My neurodiversity has increased the chances of their realization, even if I don’t have tics in childhood or adolescence.
Prior to severe motor tics, I had sensitivity to the sound and light symptoms of OCD and General Anxiety Disorder, but never in public.
Yes, the word “words” has hit me a thousand times, otherwise my story would have been bad. Yes, I tried to knock my finger on the car, otherwise I was afraid of being run over. Yes, I am obsessed with basic interactions to check every detail and figure out how I can go wrong. Yes, I stared for hours in the bathroom mirror, picking up my skin until the scars turned red. But my struggle with mental health has remained personal and I am proud of it.
They were not there one day.
Now, at age 21, I use Bose noise canceling headphones to deal with the sensory overload that my tics cause. Even if not, I would have a hard time hiding because I had no control over my movements.
Tick attacks are like having an out-of-body experience, and the more frustrated you are, the worse they get. Your body is rebelling against itself, captured by a chaotic force that is determined to overwhelm you. I was scared and frustrated during the tic attack due to the sudden lack of autonomy in the body. Like a sack that closes with a rope.
When I recently returned to school to take my final exams after a week of distance courses, it was a new home. Hear heavy black headphones and dark mirrors. I also sometimes use restless toys for tactile stimulation to help calm myself. I wear my sunflower green anchor to show my invisible handicap.
To agree with my version, I need tools that will give me a noticeably different, clearly unique look, Dramatically off. During class I was scared of the subtle twinkle of my eyes in my direction, the sudden rotation of the bottle cap, the touch of the ballpoint pen on the table, the professor’s decision, the chito bag and the lessons due to occasional food rash.
I was often treated as if I had no brains, strangers present in my tics. Once on a visit to the doctor I had tics and the young nurse talked to me like a little child talking about drinking puff, gently saying the beads and asking my mother of questions I can answer.
At home, my family walks on the shells to avoid the noise caused by my ticks. The TV is allowed and the dishes are stored with great care. I often feel a burden on others because of my disabilities. I hate how they can change their lives to make my life easier.
But I am slowly correcting my new symptoms. I feel more comfortable talking to friends about my ticks after they will definitely help them. I learned how to turn off the fluorescent lamps in my dorm and bought a weaker lamp that didn’t irritate my central nervous system. Avoid crowded facilities, decline invitations to events I know could cause an explosion. I took extensions to do my homework, to reduce stress, even though I was hesitant to use these resources for fear that the professors might think I was a cop.
Sometimes I still apologize for my OCD, but I try not to.
Before the ticks I hid my differences to make other people more comfortable. I learned on my own to look someone in the eye and talk to me with appropriate conversational pauses. I mimicked neurotypical behaviors to tolerate my schoolmates and avoid side effects (which however did not deter ruthless bullying from kindergarten through grade 12). I ignored my enormous discomfort from sensory overload. I tried my self-stimulating behavior as much as possible. I lived to reach impossible standards.
For 19 years, this mask has led to the belief that something is deep, always wrong.
Ticks removed my invisible protective net. As a result, I need to understand what has been taught to me about disability and mental health. The goal is not normal.
By being open about my mental health issues, I can alleviate the inner embarrassment I feel about them. I was able to identify and heal wounds that I had long ignored.
Removing the masks has allowed me to free myself from expectations that I think will be fun and successful. I may not be able to control the ailments I have or my symptoms, but I have the opportunity to rewrite the narratives that have been said about them and whenever I fulfill my needs instead of apologizing to them, I will learn. I know how to start. . Accepting you as I am.
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Source: Huffpost
I’m Liza Grey, an experienced news writer and author at the Buna Times. I specialize in writing about economic issues, with a focus on uncovering stories that have a positive impact on society. With over seven years of experience in the news industry, I am highly knowledgeable about current events and the ways in which they affect our daily lives.