Misophonia. Hatred of sounds.
But not just hated of sounds. Hatred of very specific sounds. And not just hatred of very specific sounds, but hatred of very normal sounds, which turns into hatred of your best friend’s sounds, your roommates sounds, and your father’s sounds. Who hates sounds?
It is not just a hatred of sounds, but an uncontrollable switch. When it’s on, it makes your blood boil. So no, it’s not just a hatred of sounds.
No. no.
It’s being stuck in the same room as somebody running their nails down a chalkboard and sucking all the air out of the room. That person is there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That person is there for car rides when the music isn’t loud enough. That person is an imposter and that person is your family, friends, and coworkers. It’s the people you care about, and it’s the people you don’t know you care about yet. So it’s not just a hatred of sounds. It’s the emotional abuse of not knowing whether you’all be able to eat in the same room as your future kids, and knowing that there will be people who can’t understand why them licking their fingers is like a kick in the stomach. Who simply will never comprehend that while they enjoy their gum, you sit, feeling like nails are being driven into your back, but your legs are stuck in the cement.
So it’s not just a hatred of sounds. You get to choose to hatred.
But my hatred of sounds is isolation, it’s not being able to escape, it’s daily, it’s torture, it’s emotionally and physically draining, it’s real, it’s not my choice.
Misophonia. So much more than the hatred of sounds.





