Misophonia and me
Growing up, I spent several summers in the backseat of my parents’ car trying not to kill my little brother as my parents ventured to various historical sites. Most of these places were not interesting to us, so we were essentially captives on these historical journeys throughout this country.
My father would sometimes chew gum on these road trips, and if he did, I did everything I could to block out the sound. He chewed the gum with fierce intensity, as if the piece of gum held every bit of tension that filled his body. Perhaps that wad of Big Red chewing gum represented opposing counsel in his latest trial. My mother either did not hear it or it did not bug her as intensely.
Chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp …filled the car until I wanted to jump out of the window while the car was moving. I even tried to drown out the sound by putting my Sony Walkman (no iPods yet) over my ears on full blast, but that did not totally work because I could still see his jaw moving so I was imagining the chomping sounds.
I recently found out that there is a name for my intolerance-misophonia. It’s not just me! “Misophonia” comes from the Ancient Greek words μῖσος (IPA: /mîː.sos/), meaning “hate”, and φωνή (IPA: /pʰɔː.nɛ̌ː/), meaning “voice” or “sound”, loosely translating to “hate of sound”, and was coined to differentiate the condition from other forms of decreased sound tolerance such as hyperacusis (hypersensitivity to certain frequencies and volume ranges) and phonophobia (fear of sounds).[3][17][5] Having a name for my issue doesn’t really mean anything, but it does make me feel a tad less strange about it. However, it won’t make those that chomp gum stop chomping.
At least I am no longer a kid trapped in the backseat of the car.
