I don’t have misophonia, thankfully. From what I’ve heard, it’s excruciating. Briefly, it’s having a ‘flight or fight (mostly fight’ reaction to noises, especially eating. I do have noise sensitivities, but that isn’t the same as misophonia. I don’t get angry at the noises that bother me, except for ASMR.
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Just thinking about ASMR makes me rage. When I’ve tried to listen to ASMR, I’ve wanted to punch my laptop. I could not shut it down quick enough, and I grit my teeth at the mere mention of ASMR. Joke ASMR does not affect me in the same way, which is interesting. What I mean by joke ASMR, I mean people just lowering their voice to a whisper and saying they’re doing ASMR or eating by a mike. Neither of these bother me. But the actual ASMR? I seriously want to punch someone. Which makes me more sympathetic to people with misophonia.
I said I don’t have it, but I do have sound sensitivities. I need to be in strict control of how loud anything is around me. It was difficult when my parents were here because my father is nearly deaf without his hearing aids, and he refuses to wear them on the regular. Therefore, when he was watching videos, the sound was excruciatingly loud–even though he wasn’t in the same room.
That’s the thing. It’s not so much that it makes me angry (though it odes); it’s that it’s pure agony to me. It physically hurts my ears and brain in a way that makes it impossible for me to think. One time, K, another friend, and I went to a restaurant in which the music was so loud, I had to leave. It was agony, which she didn’t get, but she obliged me. There was no way I could have sat through dinner in that place.
This is really hard to explain to people without seeming like I’m being precious. For most people, music being too loud is not physically uncomfortable. It just means they can’t hear other things around them. For me, it physically hurts to the point where I just want to curl up in a ball and stuff cotton in my ears. It reduces me to a whimpering mess, and it makes it impossible for me to think.
When I think of all the reasons why I don’t want to live with someone, this is a big one. I need to control the elements around me to a terrifying degree. Someone in the RKG Discord was nearly in tears about dealing with her husband’s chewing with her misophonia. In reading Dear Prudence today, there was a letter from a woman whose sister watches her (LW) daughter once a week. It turned out that the sister, we’ll call her Jane, didn’t stay in the same room as the daughter, say, Mary, when Mary was eating dinner. Mary told her mother, we’ll name her Trisha, and Trisha was hurt and offended. She asked why her sister couldn’t just get over it and sit in the same room as her daughter? Even after her sister said that she had misophonia and was doing it to save her sanity. Which, to me, seemed pretty thoughtful. Because the alternative would be her screaming at Mary the fiftieth time Mary chomped down on a celery stick. Granted, Jane could have told Mary why she (Jane) was leaving her (Mary) alone during dinner, but other than that, she was dealing with it in a reasonable way. The fact that Trisha was like, “She should just get over it” made me instantly rage.
Misophonia is a real thing, even if it’s not necessarily diagnosable. Telling ANYONE just to get over something is unbelievably dismissive, especially when it’s something like this. The implication is that Jane is being a aby and should just grow up. Or a precious snowflake. It’s one thing to ask Jane what’s up with that in a nonjudgmental voice. To tell her to ‘grow up’ or even think it is rude.
The commenters ripped her apart, too. The ones that Prudie printed in her column, I mean. She was taken aback at the venom, but it was because of the ‘get over it’ comment. It was incredibly dismissive, which made me understand why people were pissed at her. My immediate thought was, “Fuck you” so I empathize with the commenters.
I’m used to people minimizing what I’m going through or not understanding it. I’m actually not mad about it because they don’t have to deal with it every day the way I do. But, when I do bring it up, just accept that I’m telling you what is true for me. Don’t ask if I really can’t eat gluten or dairy. Worse yet, don’t say that you could never do it. Believe me. If the alternative was spending six hours in the bathroom, you most definitely could give up gluten and dairy. Especially in this day and age when there are so many tasty substitutes. I did it because I had to, and it wasn’t an option. Yes, I know how terrible it is not to be able to eat cheese, bread, or dumplings. Yes, I know that while there are good substitutes, none of them are as good as the originals. I also know that my diet is really limited. Believe me, I know. I don’t need your pity or your gasped horror. It is, as they say, what it is. I’ve been eating this way for five or six years, and it’s second-nature to me now. I don’t think of it any more than I think about how much I hate clothing. Which is a lot. I hate it so much. I wear as little clothing as possible, and I stick to very basic fibers. I can’t do wool, for example. People are like, “Try this wool!” No. Why would I want to risk it? I don’t think people understand how miserable all this shit makes me. Same with makeup. I used to wear it my first year in college. It was back in the days of not being aware of allergens, so I would break out into a rash while wearing the makeup. Plus, it felt so gross and like a coating of paint. I gave it up fairly quickly and it was such a relief. same with shaving my armpits and any kind of beauty bullshit. I take a shower every third day or so and wash my hair once a week. That’s all
I do, and I look fantastic. I also don’t use deodorant because it makes me itchy. Almost anything I put on my body makes me unhappy, so I keep it as clean as possible.
This is my life. It has been forever. It’s normal to me, but not to everyone else. I don’t really care, but it’s hard to explain it to others. And it’s not something I really want to talk about because it’s boring as fuck. All I want is for people not to give me shit about it. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.