For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had these strange movements I call spasms. Whatever they were, they always had the same impact when I was in 2nd-11th grade: embarrassment. I would be minding my business during a slow, boring afternoon in the middle of those tight rows that consisted of single-seating desks when I would feel that inevitable tension in my joints. What followed was always a few tense twitches of my head, half-suppressed hand shaking, or abrupt floor kicks. I remember how my whole body would stiffen and my gaze would lock onto whatever was taking up desk space in front of me as I would spiral. Did anyone see that? Will they hate me now? What is wrong with me? Why do I do this? I suppose no one really did care, but how was I supposed to know?

In the years before I turned 17, the spasms would sometimes not occur for multiple days at a time. After I reached that age, however, they would remain daily with several hour gaps between each incident. Due to high school being a high-stress environment with the constant crash of classroom doors shutting, kids ear-piercingly screeching, pencils brutally scratching against paper, and nonstop chattering during lectures, it started to take a toll. Each sound was like someone taking a knife to my skull, plunging it through the thick layers of bone, and pushing it through the long noodle that makes up my brain. This initial pain would bleed into several spasms. The most common were tongue clicks, leg shaking, and various forms of hand flailing which then streamlined into persistent embarrassment and confusion. On one hand, I finally had situations I could tie the spasms back to. On the other hand, however, I was burdened by more and more internalized humiliation. My eyes would always dart around to make sure no one was staring at me, and I had more trouble focusing in class.

By 12th grade, around a year had passed since the spasms started occurring daily. Initially, of course, I was constantly tense. When will the next one hit? Has anyone started talking about it? How much attention has been put onto me, and how do I get rid of it? These questions constantly kept me on edge in 11th grade and had continued to at the beginning of 12th grade. They floated in my brain like jellyfish in a current, unable to be controlled and consequently moving into my focus. It wasn’t until I was staring at the ground or the ceiling while I walked like any other day prior that it finally clicked. No one had ever said anything about my movements at the time.

That’s right, not once throughout my entire lifespan had anyone ever said anything about it until this year, despite how much I dwelled upon it. The events that lead up to this circumstance occurred during a vacation I went on with my grandma and my cousin. We went to a very loud and exhausting place called Busch Gardens as well as an equally draining yet somehow dirtier establishment called Splash Adventure Water Park. The mid-day summer heat was harshly beating down on us while we tried to navigate Busch Gardens, which wasn’t exactly easy. We ended up going in circles through significantly tall slopes and tight queue lines. My grandma somehow managed to get her bulky mobility scooter through queue line bars that were so close together, they were the same width apart as the scooter was wide, which was incredibly distressing to watch. Splash Adventure Water Park wasn’t any better, as there wasn’t a single bathroom that wasn’t overwhelming. One bathroom was infested with spiders, another had a broken automatic hand dryer that wouldn’t shut up, and the last one was just really grimy. On top of this, my grandma was experiencing Hell on Earth just so that me and my cousin could remotely enjoy ourselves, which made me really upset on her behalf. All of these little things surmounted into me having the most spasms I had ever had in a week-long period. They were almost constant. At my worst moment was when my grandma asked, “do you have tourettes?” I finally wasn’t the one asking questions.

In conclusion, I do not have tourettes. I don’t know what I have, but I do know one thing: I am a huge projector. No one has expressed that they care about how I spasm. My grandma was simply concerned and wanted to find a solution, completely demolishing my lifelong worries. It was a lesson not to get into my head about stuff. Nowadays when I spiral, I face it with logic and disassemble it.

"In the past, I was too judgemental and cynical. In the present, fear is holding me back (as well as self doubt). In the future, I need to wait before making a decision."

"What do you think it means to live? Is it achieving something others could not? Is it experiencing life to its fullest? Is it traveling to places to experience cultures? When the moon rises and the sun sets in an endless cycle, who stares back at you? Is it yourself? Is it someone you've long forgotten? Is it who you could have been? The answers others provide to these questions may not always apply, for living is subjective."