People stare when I walk by. I ­pretend not to notice. It’s not their fault; they don’t know I can’t stop. Can’t stop ticcing.

When I was 11 years old, 16 letters changed the way I live my life forever: Tourette syndrome. Now, four years later, I am still suffering from that fateful diagnosis. Tourette syndrome, or as I fondly call it, TS, is a neurological disorder that affects the brain. It causes a person to have tics, which are uncontrollable vocal sounds or motor movements. I have both.

When I was 12, I would bang my knees together when I walked, creating bruises. Yet I couldn’t stop. This went on for months and then my tics changed. That’s another thing; the tics can suddenly go away or appear when you least expect them.

I clear my throat and sniff uncontrollably. I make vocal sounds that cause people to turn in the hallways and look at me. I also have tics that only affect me at certain ­moments. Scooting in a chair, closing a book, or even setting down a cup can turn into a battle of will as I fight TS to get it just right.

A tic is like a mosquito bite. You don’t want to scratch it because it will get worse, but eventually you give in, and it feels so good you don’t want to stop. Only there’s no anti-itch ointment for TS; you have to live with it.

I take pills three times a day to help, but TS has no cure. My family loves and supports me, and I have great friends, but I still wonder what it would feel like to be normal – not to have to fight to be normal. I have learned to accept life with TS, and I am even a little proud of it. I know God gave it to me for a reason: to educate others.

The most common misconception is that TS means you curse a lot. Uncontrollable cursing is called coprolalia and affects 15 percent of those with TS.

Nearly all of my friends accept my TS, but recently a friend asked, “Can’t you just stop?” It hurt me more than words can say. I had expected him to understand. I would love to stop if I could.

All I’m asking is that the next time you see people twitching or making weird noises, try to step in their shoes and understand how embarrassed they feel. I’m a straight A student, so having TS isn’t a mental handicap. My feelings can get hurt just like everyone else’s, maybe even more so.

I try to stand up and be tough most of the time, but inside I am crying. But I know I must be strong and show everyone that even though I’m different, I’m special too.