I think we can all agree that for all the internet’s pluses (email, maps, banking, photos of cats dressed as humans) the one gigantic minus offsetting the entire effort is the fact that the freaks aren’t alone anymore. Time was, if you had an opinion or belief not held by anyone else in your social circle, you shut up about it.
Not anymore. The craziest of crackpots are now just a few clicks away from finding entire goddamn communities of like-minded idiots who believe that very same wrong shit that was previously just a lonesome buzzing gnat in their stupid, misguided skulls. Now they’re not only more sure their (definitely wrong) theory is right, now they’ve got “evidence” and “proof” and just think about it, man, why haven’t we seen the long-form birth certificate? Same goes with 9/11 Truthers, Kennedy conspiracy nuts, moon landing freaks and everyone in between. Those people are the worst. You know that.
So did I. Until now.
Today I learned that I too am one of those lonely souls who was just searching for a fringe group to call my own. Yesterday I was lost, today I am found.
Turns out I am a full-fledged sufferer of misophonia. Take it away, New York Times:
For people with a condition that some scientists call misophonia, mealtime can be torture. The sounds of other people eating — chewing, chomping, slurping, gurgling — can send them into an instantaneous, blood-boiling rage.
Y-E-S. I second that emotion. Oh, how I have long seconded that emotion.
Now, I’m sure others are *slightly* annoyed by their breakfast buddy hacking up their Grape Nuts like they’re doing an impression of a garbage disposal chewing a spoon, but my guess is that only a select unlucky few of us experience something like full-on RAGE. It’s bad, guys. I had a cubemate a few years back that was such an offensive chewer I had to get up and walk away every time she sauntered back from the cafeteria with a meal. (I’m not kidding. Wish I was.) Even her eating of soup gave me the willies, and I can’t describe the abject horror every time I saw a salad in her hand. Her boisterous handling of a crouton would have given a mid-rodent vulture a run for its money. Like I said, bad.
But while knowing this horrifying-yet-ultimately-harmless-and-likely-made-up-and-definitely-a-white-whine disease isn’t going to make loud chewers any less disgusting, and though there is no current treatment for the unending waves of revulsion that well inside me, it’s nice to know I’m not alone.
Internet, you’re back in the black.
(P.S. I found that photo in Google Images while trying to find something to accompany this story. It’s from some lady’s blog, and I had to post it because I love the idea that someone not only took that photo of herself, but decided “Yes, this is something I am going to publish on the internet.”)