When Everyday Sounds Drive You Crazy
What it’s like to live with misophonia, a hatred of common noises
I did everything I could to avoid sitting next to my dad at dinner. My mom would call two or three times before I would appear in the kitchen, and I’d wait for my sisters to fix their plates before fixing mine. Dad was already seated at the table.
Through unspoken channels, my sisters knew that I wanted them to sit next to him so I didn’t have to. Sometimes they indulged me and sometimes they didn’t. I often left dinner angry. Every choice around the dinner table seemed like a deliberate attempt to antagonize me.
Not that it really mattered where I sat. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with my dad when he ate. His eyes were big and intense when he chewed, he looked as though he was pissed at his food. Air whistled in his nose as he breathed between rapid bites. He’d wash down his meal with tea, crunching on the ice cubes. I wanted to claw across the table and strangle him.
One night I couldn’t stand it anymore. I suggested he try chewing with his mouth shut. Bad idea. A fork sailed over my shoulder, struck the window behind me, and then dropped to the floor, ringing in the silence that followed.
