Last night, the American television
network ABC aired a programme about 19 year old Emma Riehl, who suffers from
misophonia – literally, a hatred of sound.
The neurological condition means that
sufferers endure high states of anxiety triggered by certain sounds; their
inability to tolerate them often forces them into a life of solitude.
I have suffered from misophonia all my
life – I just didn’t know it. In recent years, my tolerance to particular
noises is so low, it has drastically curtailed activities that most people take
for granted.
Take eating. Many of my friends think I
have an eating disorder because, when we visit a restaurant, I rarely eat
anything.
It’s not that I don’t like my food – I eat like a pig at home; I just can’t stand the sound of other people’s noises, and the tension in my stomach makes it impossible to consume anything other than several drinks to calm my nerves.
I can’t stand the sound of a fork
twisting pasta at the bottom of a plate or, worse, the scraping of a spoon at
the bottom of a yoghurt pot. So bad is my response to the latter, I can no
longer eat breakfast in a hotel restaurant when I go away.
My brother, to whom I am very close,
drinks coffee at very high temperatures. I have to leave the room when he
drinks, as the tension while waiting for the slurp as he descends upon the
liquid, makes me feel not just annoyed but angry – and I am not an angry
person.
Tapping, chewing, scraping – many people
find these noises irritating, but I really cannot be around them. Last week, I
had to ask my cleaner to stop chewing; to me, the noise was like a hurricane,
and I felt like hitting the gum out of her mouth – and I am not a violent
person, either.
My life as a television critic is spent
with the remote control permanently in one hand, as I have to hit the mute
button if anyone is eating or drinking on screen. Characters or presenters
tapping at a keyboard is another sound that drives me to distraction, just as
it does in real life.
A few weeks back, I appeared on Radio
4’s Today programme and, while waiting for my item in the studio, John
Humphrys’ sidekick was tapping at her keyboard. My palms started to sweat and I
dug my nails hard into them, so extreme was my feeling of fury.
“Excuse me, but are you going to be
doing that throughout?” I asked. I knew I would not have been able to carry on
through what felt like a hailstorm coursing through my every vein.
I can move carriages up to ten times on
a train if I can hear somebody texting – which they are allowed to do in the
quiet carriage. Indeed, I once became involved in a row when somebody objected
to my intense sighing and mumbling about the noise. Long-haul flying became a
nightmare, with the sound from other people’s headphones – another personal hatred.
They say that misophonia is a rare condition
and little understood. It is also very different from hyperacusis, which is the
over-sensitivity to the loudness of a sound. Alas, I have that, too, and spend
the little social life I have asking staff to turn down the music in bars and
clubs.
Alas, there is no known cure. Ear-plugs
are a no-no for me, as the sound of my own breathing similarly drives me to
distraction. Some recommend therapy – but I am sure that whatever noise the
therapist made would counter any effectiveness of the treatment.
So, for the moment, I just have to live
with it, as I suspect my misophonia will only stop when I am six feet under.
Even then, I wouldn’t rule out the earthworms
getting on my nerves.
No comments:
Post a Comment