Spent the afternoon reading about Misophonia. For kicks, of course.
It’s crazy to think that other people suffer from this completely irrational, horrible disease. For those who don’t know what Misophonia is, it is a severe sensitivity to, and hatred of certain sounds - most commonly sniffing, chewing, breathing, slurping, etc. — You know, sounds one must make in order to exist. More often than not, the sound making perpetrators that cause the most rage are those that share an emotional connection with the Misophonia-sufferer. (Oh, shut up, computer. “Misophonia” is a word! Stop red squiggly-lining my disease).
Now that you know what Misophonia is (although one can never truly understand it unless they’ve experienced it themselves), let me walk you through a simple scenario that I deal with daily:
A man walks through the room chewing ice: I get tense and rigid. I’m fairly certain my pupils probably dilate and I look like a mad-woman. My breathing slows (maybe this is my brain trying to calm me down by forcing me to take deep breaths) and I glare. Really. My eyes and head follow the ice-chewer as he walks all the way across the lobby and into the opposite wing. What’s going through my head? What it GOD’S NAME is your problem? Do you not realize how incredibly rude you’re being? Can you not see that you’re about to drive me to a complete mental breakdown in the middle of the work day? Why?! WHY!? WHYYYYYY!?By the time he’s through the room, I’ve realized how absolutely ridiculous I’m being. There are probably only 1 in 50 people who could possibly be as annoyed as I am by the sound of him chewing ice, and how could he possibly know that I’m one of those people?
It’s my friends and family that really get the bad end of the deal. They know about my sound sensitivity so my filter is completely lost on them. When my boyfriend bites his fork, within half a second (and before I can even stop myself), I’m bitterly saying “You bit your fork,” at which point he looks at me half frightened and half exasperated by my insanity. It’s almost like a form of turrets. Or word vomit. Before I even realize my mouth is open, I say some pretty horrible things: “You’re being disgusting,” “Can you not cover your mouth when you yawn? Seriously?”
I could write for days about what a mess of a disease/sickness/mental problem Misophonia is. But I’ll spare you. It just feels good to get pieces of it out sometimes.