My body has never felt
particularly compelled to act in accordance with conscious thought. This is
evidenced not only by the fact that I sleep-eat, but also by my nervous
twitches. So far, I have had two distinct nervous twitches. The first started
in sixth grade and lasted about a year. The second began about three years ago
and still graces me with its presence every few days. I would not be surprised
if I end up collecting several more by the time all is said and done. My
hang-ups do not seem compelled to stay confined to my mind, perpetuating
obsessive thoughts like normal neuroses. Instead they flitter about, randomly
taking control of my faculties and producing awkward moments.
Given my adolescent social
graces, the first nervous twitch was not particularly surprising. At the time, I was wound so tight that I would
tape flash cards on the ceiling in order to be able to study until the actual moment
I fell asleep (I slept on the top bunk of a combination futon/bunk bed, the
futon part of which was covered in marine mammal stuffed animals). I worried
about most of the same things as my peers: things like why the kids on the bus
were so mean to me, how I did on my last social studies project, and what would
happen to the marine ecosystem near Alaska if the Cook Inlet subpopulation of
Beluga whales went extinct. I just worried about them at a much more intense
level.
The Original Twitch (as it’s
known since the arrival of its successor) was a combination of uncomfortable-looking
gestures. I would simultaneously: squint my eyes, scrunch my nose, curl my
upper lip over my braces, hunch my shoulders, and clench my hands approximately
twice a minute whenever I was worked up. I didn’t even know I was doing it.
Okay, now you try.
Nervous Twitch: the Sequel
arrived in the spring of 2010. I had just started graduate school, quit
drinking, and changed just about every major facet of my life. In other words,
I was a basket case. The new one was much more insidious. Whereas the first
twitch was very obviously a compulsive tic, the second one looks more like I’m
just throwing things at people. My right hand and elbow extend simultaneously,
causing me to lose my grip on whatever object I’m holding and launching it
through the air. This has produced some situations involving various degrees of
embarrassment, apologies and feeble attempts at explanation.
The first time I can remember
really noticing the new twitch was at Barnes & Noble. I was buying some
books and the guy at the cash register was trying to flirt with me. I started
feeling flustered. I didn’t want to be flirted with- I just wanted to buy my
ineffective pop psychology “anxiety cure” manuals and historical chick lit
novels in peace. While I was not consciously assertive enough to verbally
create those boundaries, my hand decided to do it for me by propelling my
credit card at the cashier’s face. I was so embarrassed and perplexed that I
said the first thing that came to mind- the only
thing that came to mind:
“Sorry I threw my credit card at
you.” With that, I took my bag and sped off.
I told my parents about this
incident and the other, minor occurrences I began to notice afterward. I don’t
think they really believed me until my dad experienced it for himself. I had
moved into a new apartment and Dad and I were painting the walls together. It’s
one of my favorite memories. Dad and me, listening to podcasts and a
particularly excellent playlist I’d created for our painting party. We didn’t
talk much, painting side by side in a companionable quiet. Everything was going
smoothly until I turned to say something to my dad, and instead hurled my
paint-filled brush at him. It hit him in the chest. My dad looked at me,
aghast. I stared back at him, feeling surprised but vindicated that he could finally
witness my latest motor affliction.
“You really didn’t mean to do
that?” He asked after a long pause. I shook my head. I could tell he was
struggling to believe me.
“Because it looked like you
meant to throw it at me.”
We were in the process of
listening to some Discovery Channel Stuff You Should Know podcasts, and it
seemed that the next couple episodes directly related to the twitch. The first
was about Alien Hand Syndrome, a rare neurological disorder in which a person’s
hand acts involuntarily. Symptoms may include picking up an object and
attempting to use it without conscious directive from the brain, spontaneously
trying to perform simple tasks like buttoning a shirt, or uncontrolled reaching
and grasping. We decided to start explaining my twitch as Alien Hand Syndrome.
The very next podcast was about
absorbed twins. Some pregnancies begin with two fetuses but one of them dies
early in the first trimester and is reabsorbed into the womb. But sometimes-
rarely- the fetus is actually absorbed by its twin. Naturally, my dad and I
determined that my twitch is a manifestation of my absorbed twin. And it is actually
my absorbed twin who has Alien Hand
Syndrome. We named her Olivia, and to this day, whenever I unintentionally
throw something, I blame it on her. If Tom and I are out to eat and my fork
goes clattering to the ground, I’ll simply say, “Oh, it’s just Olivia.” He
shrugs and continues eating.
Situations in which my nervous
twitch has presented itself:
- During graduate school, as I was taking a final exam. My pencil shot out of my hand and toward the front of the class. When I picked it up, I made the mistake of holding it with my right hand, at which point I threw it again. Twice. By this time, my classmates were staring at me, presumably wondering why I was pitching a pencil across the room rather than taking the test. I finally realized I could avoid this by holding the pencil with my left hand.
- More recently, during a performance review at work as we were about to discuss my professional competency. Armed with a pencil and a notebook, I felt reasonably confident until my pencil landed under the couch where my boss was sitting. We both poorly pretended it didn’t happen.
- Several times, I have inadvertently thrown my cell phone against the wall. Tom, I think it’s safe to say we’re not getting back our deposit on this apartment.
- Olivia has breached countless time while I’m holding pens, clothes, Diet Cokes, books, and various other items. For a while, I worked in the toddler room of a preschool, but I have yet to throw a baby.
- A few weeks ago, I was paying for a few snack items at a news stand in the airport. Once again, I threw my credit card at the face of the person working at the cash register. Only this time, it was a perfectly lovely young woman who happened to not speak English. Trying to explain that one was uncomfortable.
Despite
the constant low-level embarrassment produced by my twitches, I enjoy them
immensely. It’s as though my body has so
much to say that it can’t keep it to itself. With my first nervous twitch, my
parents gently teased me about it- teaching me how to laugh at myself in a safe
environment. That way, I wasn’t so impacted when other kids made fun of me. My
parents and my nervous twitch joined forces to teach me to have a sense of
humor about myself. Which is, I think, the most important lesson anyone can
learn.
The new twitch forces me to
interact with strangers more than I otherwise would. Yes, I would rather smile
vaguely and avoid small talk while purchasing my Diet Coke and Check Mix from
the airport newsstand. But when I throw my credit card at a lady’s face, I am
forced to interact with the outside world.
Or at least, Olivia is.
No comments:
Post a Comment