<p>Sometimes. One of the treatments worked, though I’m not sure which. One of them caused vertigo and nausea, though I’m not sure which. But even after I went off them, I’m usually still.</p>
<p>It’s certainly better, don’t get me wrong. The stress of driving will bring out the dance-like turn of my arm. An interview a few weeks ago went poorly after the twitching and twirling got bad enough to prevent me from focusing on the problem at hand. A distressing scene in a movie will leave me paralyzed and rigid in my seat, posture unnatural and unnerving.</p>
<p>For being vulnerable. Even after so long away from my dad and Jay, it’s ingrained in me that vulnerability is a personal failing. Or perhaps it’s more general: perhaps vulnerability is worth apologizing for because of some hereditary reason. Perhaps I’m apologizing to my ancestors, to the human race, for being less than they hoped for, for being a disappointment.</p>
<p>My therapist apologized to me on one stressy day when I was visibly struggling to stay still. She said she felt bad for having caused this. I rushed to reassure her that, no, it probably wasn’t her fault, that I’d been on the antipsychotics for a while before ever meeting her. That the tic started back in 2012 before I’d even started those.</p>