If you know me, you know that I'm a really sentimental person. I'm always looking for the right words to say, the right time to say it, and a purpose to say something important. But as I grow older, I have realized that a lot of people don't really care what you have to say, and they judge you solely on how you appear to them. If you have read my very first article written with Odyssey, you know that Tourette Syndrome has been an ongoing nuisance in my life. However, recently, I have been struggling to find the words to describe what having a disability really feels like. So as I stumble through my words, I want you to put yourself in my position for a minute.

Imagine walking around day to day, not being able to walk in a straight line. You have to jump or hop on one foot for 5-10 steps, and then you still only get a few seconds of relief before it hits you again. You're sitting in class, and you have this annoying cough that won't stop, and it's loud -- really loud. And the people sitting next to you suddenly start scooting in opposite directions and look at you like you're foreign. Imagine working in a place that is an entertainment center for children, and the parents hate coming to talk to you because they think you're going to get their children violently ill -- even though you're perfectly fine. Or at least you aren't carrying a virus. In reality, you're not actually fine. You just try and tell yourself that you are.

As days pass and I still struggle to find a medication that works well for me, I find myself being in a position of self-doubt and anger and hatred. I hate myself some days for being who I am. I feel like I don't fit in anywhere like I'm always the outcast. When you have something that clearly makes you different, suddenly people don't want to associate themselves with you anymore. It's like you're in middle school again, just trying to find a place that you belong.

Having Tourette syndrome has put me in a place of sadness, and depression. Opening up to the entire world about how this makes me feel isn't for pity or for condolences; it's for awareness.

What people don't understand about having a disability is people put you in a box. They label you as "disabled" or "unable" to do certain things. And yes, there probably are a few things that I shouldn't do, like cut someone's hair. It could easily turn into a disaster. But think -- what if I really wanted to be a hairdresser? What if I had a dream to cut hair and make people feel good about themselves? The second people start telling you that you can't do something, you feel like you're nothing. You feel like you have no purpose, and that you aren't important to the world anymore.

I walk through life every day wondering what kind of comments I'm going to receive from strangers passing by. I think about how I might respond to the stares and the nasty comments. And I don't want to respond nicely anymore; being nice is getting tough. I want to express my rage, and my unhappiness and I want to yell at them to stop staring and to mind their own business.

But I can't.

I have to continue to move forward, and I can't let the small things get in my way of being a functioning human being. I remember coming home from work one day, in tears, because a stranger had looked me in the eyes and told me to "stop that." And I couldn't, I couldn't just stop jumping up and down; it's part of my illness. And when I kindly told him I couldn't, he looked at me with disgust and walked away. And in that moment I suddenly realized that I was different. I wasn't the same to other people. I look and act in a completely different manner than the majority of the population and yet I still feel like I'm the one who owes them something. I must owe them an explanation, or an apology, something to make them understand.

I remember coming home that day in tears and agony. I had cried the entire way home, and when I got there I just cried in my mom's arms. She told me what she had always told me growing up: "This, too, shall pass." And of all the times she was right in the past, I couldn't help but realize that this disability will never pass.

I want people who don't suffer from a disability to understand that we don't want your pity, we don't want your stares or your comments or your "poor you" look in the eyes. What we want is compassion. What we want is understanding and acceptance. What we want is to be uplifted and to be told that we can still achieve our dreams with a small helping hand from others.

I might never be able to cut hair, or be a dentist, or fight in a war, but I want to die knowing that I did something meaningful. I want to die knowing that I was kind, that I was thoughtful, compassionate, loving, helpful, and that I had a purpose, even with a major setback. But what I want more than anything is to live. I'm not scared of dying at the end of my life, I'm scared of looking back and not living the life I wanted to.

For anyone reading this, if you don't take anything from this article, please consider this: being a kind and loving human being takes absolutely no effort. Please think twice the next time someone seems to be struggling, it really will make a difference in this world, I promise.