By Angela Muriel Inez Mackay
My misophonia is not a quirk.
It’s not what “makes her different”
It’s not something fresh air can fix, or a pill can subside.
My misophonia is not intolerance.
It’s not an excuse to be “bitchy,”
and it is most certainly NOT that time of the month.
These tears are not from sadness.
They are from anger, and being overwhelmed.
They’re from the fear that it will be too much.
That it will push you away.
I do not wear headphones in defiance,
or in disrespect to your words.
I wear headphones for an ironic sense of quiet.
“It’s not you, it’s me” is my motto.
It’s what I repeat in my head while you chew,
Each bite slicing into my ears like knives,
Each scrape of the fork a flinch of my finger,
Each crumple of the bag a cringe.
It kills me when you take joy in my pain,
Your gum mocks me,
And instead of an apology, you say,
“It’s just a sound!”
To you, it IS just a sound.
But to me, it’s my worst nightmare.
It’s what makes me avoid people,
Avoid “grabbing a bite to eat” with friends.
It’s what makes me want to stay home,
It’s what makes me question why I even bother.
My misophonia is what fills me with fear
Every single day,
That I will be too much to handle,
That I’m too touchy,
That I’m too “intolerant”,
My misophonia is part of me,
And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for every glare,
Every snappy word.
I have misophonia.