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Ordinary noises fill me with rage – then I got a neighbour so loud they can only be a fancy horse | Rebecca Shaw

My ears blocked and I felt something unimaginable – I wished I could hear them!

Overall, I don’t have too many positive things to say about the coronavirus thus far. When I caught Covid for the first time in August this year, it was gastro Covid (not as fun as it sounds), and I spent weeks with constant nausea and vomiting, simultaneously scared of and hoping for death. During that time, I must admit, I still couldn’t really see many silver linings. But against all odds, a bright side emerged. To understand this miraculous turnabout, you must first understand a condition I have called misophonia.

The word “misophonia” literally means “hatred of sound”, which might give the sleuths among you a clue. I first heard of misophonia about five years ago when my mother sent me an article, saying, “This explains everything about you since you were a weird child!” At about 13, I stopped being able to eat dinner at the table with my family, due to the scraping of cutlery on plates, the slurping of drinks, and the three growing brothers madly shovelling food into their gaping maws (in my defence, yuck). The timing was consistent with the (still minimal) research – something hinky started going on with my neuro-physiological system for some reason, and my brain and body started being triggered by certain sounds and movements. I was also becoming a lesbian, but I think that was unrelated.

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Read the original article at The Guardian

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