Personal Narrative: Misophonia

A couple days after I was born, my family learned that something was different about me. When the doctor performed the routine examination to assess my health, he discovered that I did not respond to loud noises. Usually, a baby would cry, but this was not the case for me. Eventually, I was diagnosed with hearing loss.

Louise was informed by doctors and Friends not to use gestures or sign to Lynn but to only talk to her and treat her as a normal child so that she someday may become oral and learn to speak.

Donna McDow, 57, a retired secretary who lives near Los Angeles, would tell people she has a bad headache. “Everybody understands a headache, nobody understands what we have” (Cohen). People think that Misophonics are choosing to let the noises control their life. They think that they are crazy and making up their frustration on their own. It is something they have trained themselves, or been trained by others to do to do or hear. But they are wrong.

I was crouching, playing with a wooden bead maze entranced with the different colours that it entailed. I was in this large regal office, the desk was made out of dark wood; certificates with glossy frames were hanging around the office. There stood a doctor behind the desk as he broke the news to my father that I was indeed hearing impaired. As they quietly discussed the best action of plan for me, I suddenly heard my father yell, “She is not going to deaf school!” and as the shouting got louder, the words started to sound muddled to me. Red with rage, my father grabbed me by the hand and slammed the door; I took a glance back and did not fully comprehend the life changing appointment that just took place in front of me. At the tender age of 5, I was diagnosed with sensorineural hearing loss. Sensorineural hearing loss occurs with a combination of inner ear

I received a call from Lorna and Christina. Lorna said that she got an Order of Dismissal from the Hearing Rep, but she did not understand what it says, what this is about. She swiftly read it, saying that the claimant file a hearing on 05/10/17, which is a very late request.

I woke up like everyday, in perfect silence. I can’t remember a time when I able to hear. The fact is that I’m deaf so that means I couldn’t hear a thing. I slid from my bed and walked over to my dresser. It was Monday and I had to go to school. School made me feel incompetent, my teachers smiled and pointed to stuff trying to help me understand. A place where my fellow classmate don’t understand that I can’t hear their taunts and bullying. When people heard that I’m deaf, their first thought was that I’m helpless.

An auditory processing disorder, is when your ears and brain don’t cooperate together, the ways in which the brain interprets sound through speaking and or sounds.

“Huh?” “What?” “Can you repeat that please?” These are all sayings that people in my life have heard me say repeatedly. I had hearing loss that I was born with but didn’t really know about till I started school. At age 6, I took an eye and hearing exam at the school I attended, and they told my parents that they should take me to an audiologist because something was wrong with my hearing. Upon visiting the audiologist, we learned that I have a unilateral hearing loss, which meant that my right ear was nearly perfect, but my left ear had around 50 percent hearing loss. After knowing this information, my parents asked what any good parents would ask; “So what do we do to help her?” The doctor told us since it hadn’t affected my grades and I was able to adjust to the hearing that I had, he wouldn’t suggest getting a hearing aid, but to tell teachers to keep me close to the front and to the side where my stronger ear was to the middle. My parents sought for extra help with my speech and language, but the school didn’t allow it because of how well I was doing in class. So I lived life as normal as could be.

I grew up at a Deaf residential school. For most of the time I slept there at the dorm. We –they had a night supervisor who also slept on site. Aww, she was such a very sweet old women. She retired at her old job and got a new job here at the Deaf residential school where I was staying. It was four of us girls she would watch. Nine-nine-thirty the lights were out. But at midnight, me and my three roommates decided we’d meet at- meet up. So I waited till midnight. I kept looking at my clock- is it time, is it time? And then the clock struck midnight. Me and my friends we met up. One of the girl had a boyfriend who came back from Canada. He had bought a whole sack of c-f- firecrackers when he was there. They’re not allowed here in the states but he bought them anyway.

I’ve always been an outsider, it’s been hard for me to build friendships and relationships. Not too long ago, there I sat in the corner of the room in the way back, trying to hide from the world, and be myself. I didn’t really want to get involved with anything or anyone. I was afraid to open up, talk to others, maybe because I was afraid to get rejected. Until, I met the best people I could ever meet, my best friends Marisa Mendoza, Jessica Contreras and Deseray Reyes, the ones who up to this day have sticked by my side, at my best, and worst moments. They have all been a big part of my life, I can enjoy every minute I spend with them. For me, they aren’t only my friends they are like my sisters.

Ever since I was young, I knew something was different about me. I’ve always had an active imagination and would write all kinds of stories, sometimes through pictures and sometimes through words. Not until I was in first grade did I notice my writing was different than my friends. It didn’t bother me though because I was too young to realize something was wrong; I was just different. One weekend, after playing restaurant with my mom and brother, my mom contacted my teacher to talk about some concerns she had with my reading and writing. She was told that I seemed to be progressing on an age-appropriate level with my peers and that nothing appeared to be wrong. But my mom persisted, and insisted that I be tested for a reading disability. My dad is dyslexic and my mom, knowing it can be passed down, was watching for the signs in my older brother first and now me. After testing, one of SV’s school psychologists announced that my results showed I had a learning disability. I then went to my pedestrian to talk about it and then to a special learning center in Sewickley for further

For my second deaf event, I visited the AMC theater in Deptford and saw a movie with closed captions. I had few expectations about what my experience would be like, as my knowledge of closed captioning devices prior to that day was very minimal. The device itself came as a surprise to me, and there were several issues with it during the film, but overall the problems were negligible. It was inarguably a learning experience, and I am thankful for it.

The first time I realized I was different was in second grade, when I opened my mouth to answer a question and my peers giggled as I struggled to answer. I pronounced my R's like W's, which threw my whole pronunciation of the English language into a twist. My previously "adorable" lapses in speech were now affecting me negatively. I was different than the rest of my classmates; I had been born with a speech disorder.

While out in public people constantly look at me and whisper about my size at times. I am only four foot two inches which is close to average for women with achondroplasia but as a child I was even tinier. Most children did not see a difference between me and any other child until I was in fourth grade. I was constantly bullied due to my height and abnormal head. I was unable to overcome the bullying causing my parents to pull me out of public school and enroll me in online classes by fifth grade. I fell into depression and missed the small group of friends I had developed. My mother would give me daily pep talks which helped boost my confidence as well as made sure I was treated as an equal and never make it known that I was different. My sister also helped me overcome depression by spending a lot of time with me and assisting me when doing chores and other daily activities; I never let her do anything for me though. I only let her help because I felt that I could still live like a normal sized person despite being small and wanted to show everyone I was capable of doing tasks big or small on my own. I have been able to establish a close knit group of friends that have been there for me for many years already. I am currently in high school, attending a public school, where I am accepted by many other teens and enjoy all my classes and being in a social

At the time of my diagnosis, I could not speak and could only make sounds and screams. I for example would scream at the fridge and my mom would figure out that I was hungry. It got really difficult because I would scream for hours because my mom wouldn’t know what I wanted. I would also have frequent meltdowns where I would bang my head on the wall along with screaming and crying. To this day I can’t recall what made me so upset. My mom was the only person who could touch me and I would freak out if anyone else