Do You Hear What I Hear?
My misophonia threatens relationships, peace of mind, perhaps even my salvation
“Misophonia is characterized by intense rage and disgust provoked by hearing specific human sounds resulting in social isolation due to avoidance.” — “Misophonia is associated with altered brain activity in the auditory cortex and salience network,” Nature, May 17, 2019
I was listening to a religious podcast the other week (okay, it was Jinger Duggar Vuolo) when I kept hearing the person overly put the emphasis on “sus,” as in “Jeee ZUGHSSSSSS.”
Ugh!
I almost couldn’t listen to what she was saying, I was so grossed out by the childish way she was saying it.
That’s been the story of my life for most of my life. Only, I didn’t realize my personality quirk, a curse and a blessing, had a name: misophonia. At least until the last few years.
Certain sounds send me reeling, beyond nails on a chalkboard and squeezing latex balloons:
Loud, open-mouthed chewing, which sounds like oral sex to me
Moaning and humming while eating
Moaning and groaning like you’re getting head while moping around, getting a massage, or lying down to sleep
Certain Homer Simpson burping
High-pitched shrieking, wailing, squealing (I can’t be around a group of women for long)
A grown woman engaging in baby talk
Overly enunciating, precious princess, Valley Girl talk
New York accents
Haoles speaking pidgin English in Hawaii
Asians and politicians trying to speak black
Spittle rolling around in your mumbling mouth, Sean Hannity
Repetition in your speech
There’s probably more, but these are a few off the top of my head.
If you have a vocal tick or sound fake in any way, I’ll catch it.
The misophonia that’s kept me from forming long-lasting relationships is the same misophonia that’s enabled me to write detailed music reviews, a few so exacting and brutally honest it’s pissed off/threatened more than a few working jazz musicians.
I can’t help it. It’s the way I’m made.
If you haven’t noticed, I also try to fall into a natural rhythm when I write (and talk). Rhythm is what I listen for — in everyday conversation, music, art, podcasts, social media posts, whatever is around me.
It has to be rhythmic, or it lacks soul and I’m done with it.
Rhythm is, in a sense, the antidote to my misophonia.
It’s why I listen to music or beautiful voices reacting to moving moments…to tune out the ugly sounds threatening to unravel my sanity. I have to have my phone or the TV on in every room at full blast, when I’m working, doing chores, and especially when I’m eating with people who make loud, chewing sounds and groan/sing when they eat food they particularly are looking forward to.
Besides the sound thing, I have a mouth and a little bit of Tourette’s. Do the Math; eventually, I will blow.
Those who stick around really love me, including my husband, who commits a few of the sins in my list (above).
I didn’t think I could get married for the longest time, because I was such an asshole about sound and other stupidity. I fully intended to live on my own until the day I died, surrounded by dogs, disturbing nobody and being blissfully oblivious.
I thought I was the only one, too. But apparently, there are others who have crippling misophonia to where they can’t even leave their home, and they literally do live alone. They have to.
Spiritually, it’s a problem.
I’ve left churches, bible studies, and people because I didn’t like the way they sounded, what they said didn’t match what they did, they took liberties I didn’t give them, they took me for granted, they couldn’t stay by my side and stare into the same abyss without some fucked-up excuse, rationalization, justification. They couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with my questions about the bible and gays, the role women are supposed to play, why it’s okay to raise up a king who thinks nothing of fucking around…
Maybe it’s also my brain protecting me from people who don’t necessarily have my best interests at heart, or maybe don’t realize what they’re doing or saying quite yet. But I do.
Then, I have to go.
I have to, or I’ll force you to make me leave.
Bible study…I’ve been to a few. The one I’m in now is the longest I’ve attended in succession. I like the people there, I’m closer to some than others. Besides, I feel something massive growing inside me, like the crescendo of your favorite song, as it crests over the fadeaway chorus, burying the lead in the piano background, forcing me to sit back and listen and learn and work through the annoying sounds that have always alerted me to danger and bullshit up ahead.
At the last bible study, god help me, they added a worship segment at the end, where we stood (I sat because of my legs), swayed, bounced in place, raised our hands (gross), and sang along to the words on the TV screen, like some warped, Christian karaoke.
The songs themselves were sorely wanting, dumbed-down musically and lyrically, embarrassing to listen to, and totally unworthy of the Lamb, IMHO. I made the best of the situation, clinging to the lines of a few lyrics in the last song, as they turned up like a flower at the last syllable, in order to play along and be a good sport.
They did sustain me a little, made me feel less phony, and gave me a sense of the great G-d I do worship.
However, if anyone asked, I’d rather sing along to Israel & the New Breed’s “Rejoice,” or listen to Seawind (“Window of a Child,” “Devil is a Liar,” “He Loves You”). Besides, it’s not about us, it’s about Him, right? Why are we lending our voices in such a simplistic way?
I’m trying, guys, trying not to be an asshole anymore.
It’s cost me my family…my only child, now grown, friends, potential jobs… This sense that you have to mean what you say and not dick around with lazy fallback mannerisms that annoy the hell out of me and — maybe, just maybe — tell me that you’re not a good person. At least, not good for me.
I have witnessed so many well-meaning, kind, decent people saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and thinking I’ll let it slide. Then, they keep doing it, disregarding a certain level of respect until they let their guard down completely and the patterns of disturbing behavior I sense are on full display.
It could be:
They don’t respect me
They don’t like me
They aren’t considerate of my feelings
They’re racist pigs
They’re using me because they’re bored or for their own ego project
They don’t see me, they see what they want to see
They never appreciated me
They’re hiding secret, disgusting lives of hypocrisy and excess
They filled up the empty spaces with bullshit
They get lazy and take me for granted
They’re entirely wrong
Bible study brings out all kinds of people. I’ve been dismissed, mistaken for another Korean woman in the room (since we all look alike), laughed at, made fun of, belittled, patronized, lectured over and interrupted, outright lied and misrepresented to…until I begin to ask questions…Why am I here? Am I an inconvenience? Is this a show? What do they really want from me? Why did they drop this gathering, like it was nothing, if it was billed as something important?
Inevitably, a small, still voice says, “You can just leave.”
The voice doesn’t pretend to be someone it’s not. It doesn’t laugh at its own jokes. It doesn’t need a teleprompter or a posse to confirm its own bias. It doesn’t lie to itself and expect me to follow along over a cliff.
It’s quiet and real and true and, I guess it’s mine.
On a good day, I’ll just take a break until I get a better attitude…until I can listen to you again without cringing, wanting to punch your face, or proving you wrong.
On a bad day, I’ll finally speak up — get the popcorn, Mildred — and it’ll be scorched earth.
Keep it up. That day will come, without warning.
Much like the alleged Day of Rapture (written and theoretically concocted by men)…
Whoops, did I say that?