EDITOR’S NOTE: Every Tuesday, noted Tourette Syndrome advocate Troye Evers shares his “52 Weeks of TS” blog journal with the TSParentsOnline community. In cased you missed the first 16 weeks, you can read them here. For more information about Troye, please click on his name or visit his website.
The brain is often compared to a super computer — the body’s computer, which not even the smartest person has been able to duplicate. Computers get viruses that attack their systems, and just like a computer my brain has a virus called Tourette Syndrome. I’m not saying that Tourette syndrome is a virus, I’m just trying to explain how I feel. I feel like there is a virus attacking my computer/brain, and no one has developed an antivirus. Computer specialists find antiviruses for computers just as fast at the virus is released, but we are still here waiting for some type of fix for our body’s computer.
Doctors try to give us a pill. Is this our antivirus? Well let me tell you something, you had better get back to the drawing board because it’s not working. I’m on Week 4 of my medication trial, and honestly I don’t feel much of a difference. As I have described in the past few weeks, I have been off my normal schedule, working on many different and stressful freelance jobs.
This week I am finally starting to get my normal schedule back and this is also the week that I have reached my full-prescribed dosage of my Klonopin. Three .5 mg pills a day, one when I wake up, one in the afternoon, and one at bedtime. Guess what? I feel the same, I’m still as anxious as usual, and crazy stressed out.
I was somewhat hopeful that this new medication regimen would relax me without making me into a walking zombie. I’d love to be more relaxed but I really think it is impossible with anxiety disorder, and I’m really getting sick of people telling me to, “Just relax!” I swear one more person tells me to relax, I’m going to punch them in the face.
Imagine you’re stuck in traffic on your way to the airport and you’re cutting it close to missing your flight — that’s how I feel. Imagine you’re strapped to a bungee cord about to jump over a bridge to the rocky cliffs below — that’s how I feel. Imagine that second before you’re about to get into a car accident — that’s how I feel. It’s a non-stop nagging feeling that won’t go away. Twenty-four hours a day, I’m always worried.