Eating Christmas: Audrey Treon on surviving the holiday with misophonia

For most of us, food provides comfort — particularly during the holiday season.

But for some, it’s the opposite.

Audrey Treon explains in her Eating Christmas essay.

AUDREY TREON: Last year I made Barefoot Contessa's lasagna for Christmas Eve dinner.

I don't know what makes my mom prouder: the fact that I survived another Christmas, or the fact that I mentioned her lord and savior, Ina Garten.

I say survive Christmas because this is not a day nor season spent in pure winter bliss. I doubt it is for most people.

I try to remember everything I learned from the dealing-with-difficult-people day in therapy when I'm confronted with questions like, "So what job are you going to get with that degree?" Or, "Are you really going to eat all of that?"

I thank God that the difficult people are contained to only a few days out of the year. I can deal with a few days.

What becomes harder to deal with is a lifetime, a lifetime of Christmas dinner spent alone in your room. Dinners where laughs echo through the halls and fond memories are passed around and shared. But there you are, sitting in your room, pushing the food around on your plate.

I spend my dinners alone in my room, not because my angsty teen days have some have somehow continued into my 20s. I spend my dinners alone in my room because I cannot be around the eating.

I can cook and be in the kitchen, but it's my cue to retreat once people start to eat.

My brain probably reacts quite differently than yours does to daily sounds like chewing, swallowing, repetitive noises and more.

Imagine that every time someone eats, clicks their pen, picks at their nails, even brushes their hair in your vicinity — you feel the blood rush through your veins, your muscles tense, your jaw clenches, and your brain conjures up thoughts so wretched that you wouldn't dare speak them into existence.

Imagine this happening every day, multiple times a day. Every instance tattoos your brain and stays there, even for years.

Family dinners live in a forgotten time. School lunch periods were spent smiling through the piercing noises of kids chewing, quite literally, like cows. And quick trips to the grocery store are ruined by passersby chewing gum.

I have misophonia.

If you have heard of it, you've probably heard the word annoyance as part of the definition. Misophonia is a condition in which one or more common sounds cause an atypical emotional response such as disgust, distress, panic, or anger and the affected person hearing the sound. Not annoyance.

I have grown to detest the word as it describes misophonia. I am not annoyed by the sound of people eating or a fork scraping against teeth. I am disgusted and enraged, physically, psychologically and emotionally sickened by it.

I so deeply yearn for annoyance.

It stings every time, closing the door behind me, wondering about the life I could have led if it hadn't been for misophonia. I developed misophonia at 11. Doctors still aren't sure what causes it.

Some days it hurts so bad I can't help but crumble alongside the agony of it all. Other days I'm able to put on my headphones and eat my dinner.

Yes, I am alone in my room, but at least I am not confronted with the poisonous sound of eating.

So no, my Christmas is not spent in delight. It is spent with tears streaming down my face, panicked breath and the crippling sense of isolation.

But throughout the night I play Scrabble against my parents, which usually ends with a victory in my name.

I laugh with my sisters, hug my dogs, and cherish the day, my loved ones and their never-ending understanding.

Some years it is harder to survive Christmas, but I always do.

Who knows about this year, but deep underneath my skin I will still be yearning for simple annoyance.

Last year's lasagna was quite good, but I still ate it by my lonesome.

That has become a fact of my life. >eals alone, even on Christmas, whether I like it or not.