Why the sound of crunching makes me want to kill

Crisps, apples, noisy eaters, confined spaces: misophonia is no joke

I am writing this whilst on a two-hour train journey during which I have moved seats no fewer than three times. The problem?  Men eating crisps, loudly, and without care or concern for fellow passengers. Since 9.30am I have been exposed to five offenders, crunching their way through salt and vinegar, prawn cocktail, Worcester sauce, beef jerky, and, the worst of all, cheese and onion. If the crunching isn’t bad enough, the rustling packets, sucking fingers and wiping of crumbs on trousers adds to the horror.

I want to kill when I can hear the chewing of gum, and the little clicking sounds that accompany it.

The man at my table has just taken an apple out of his bag and I am bracing myself, anticipating a good ten minutes of loud crunching and swallowing.

My hatred of noisy eaters has become more pronounced over the years. Because I travel on trains and planes regularly for work, I end up to listening to strangers munching, lip-smacking and swallowing hard, with no regard for others or any decent manners. Friends have suggested that I have a condition known as misophonia, which quite literally means “hatred of sound”. But I can block out loud music, kids shouting, and all manner of other noise with no problem. I never bother to use quiet coaches on trains, although I would love it if there was one that banned all food and drink.

These everyday sounds that most people seem to be able to cope with can trigger anxiety and even feelings of violence in me. If I hear anyone slurping drinks I want to knock the cup out of their hands.

I consider eating crisps in public to be a crime against humanity. This activity should be conducted in private, within the confines of a soundproofed, windowless room. Why is it not commonplace to wish to commit murder when someone is crunching away in the seat next to you? But it’s not just the sound – if I see men, and it is always men, picking up the packet to empty the crumbs into their gaping gobs, and then loudly screw up the packet, I literally want to kill. I start to shake, my heartbeat races, and I feel nauseous.

The sound of eating in the cinema has led to me walking out of films. In restaurants or dinner parties I am driven to distraction by the noise made by a spoon clanking on a bowl or a knife scraping the plate. I could kill at the sight of a bowl of soup being tipped into a mouth, fingers clearing a plate, or the use of hands wiping a mouth in the absence of a napkin. The worst eating habit for me is the sucking of fingers. The mere act of typing those words brought me out in goosebumps.

Friends tell me to use noise cancelling headphones. My solution is to make eating crisps, apples and anything else that crunches whilst in an enclosed space with another person illegal. They should serve time in jail for such offences.

As the train approaches York, I find myself glaring at the man opposite me. He has just opened his carrier bag and removed a bag of pretzels, a tuna sandwich, and, yes, here it comes, a green, crunchy apple. I am fantasising about grabbing his stash, throwing it to the ground and then jumping up and down on it. Oh, look, someone has just alighted the train carrying a super-size bag of Doritos. I may be in jail by the time you read this. At least porridge doesn’t crunch.