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pretty soon, there'll be no escape My childhood was not storybook, unless maybe it was written by a slightly disturbed and really sad author. For me, books and movies were an escape. It wasn’t until my teenage years that music also became a way to alter my very being; to lighten it, and feel some kind of transcendence. Books, movies and music helped me escape the way I felt on a daily basis, which was obviously not that great. Books were an enormous gift of escape during my jail and prison sentences. I think I would have legitimately gone crazy if I hadn’t had access to them. But over the years, as my issues with misophonia intensified, I lost the ability to utilize them in this way, or even find more than the briefest moments of joy from them. I haven’t live in an environment that provides enough calm and quiet for me to concentrate, for decades. I cannot fully immerse myself in the text when I am constantly reacting to sounds all around me, or on edge, waiting for them to happen again. I still have something crazy like 10 boxes of books in storage, that I pay for every month, but I’ll likely never get the chance to read them. Stupid. And sad. My pure enjoyment of music has also morphed and deteriorated over the years, due to the issues with misophonia. I’ve had to rely too heavily on it as a means of escape from my daily woes, and it has almost become my enemy at times. That which I loved, and aspired to make a profession in, became an irritant or punishment. All I wanted was some peace and quiet, but instead I had to put on bombastic tunes to drown out whatever was going on around me. Again, this saved me in prison, but after decades of it I can honestly say the joy has almost been taken from it. I take breaks when I can, and don’t think I’ll ever say I don’t like music, but my relationship is tenuous and it was never supposed to be. That leaves me with movies as my only chance to fully immerse, and fully escape what is otherwise a terrible life. If I put on noise cancelling headphones, and time things correctly, I can sit through an entire film and actually get lost in it for a while. Lose myself and all of my woes in a story or visual buffet that often leaves me aching with sorrow and defeat afterwards, because I’m waking from the dream and realizing I’m back in the real world, in this crummy life. So I devour movies, become highly critical, but truly experience wonder, amusement, confusion, tension, horror, anger, sorrow. Good filmmakers take me on emotional roller coaster rides that can be exhausting, but they make real life seem like the garbage it is. Still, I’ll take those slaps in the face (at the end) as the price to pay if I can marvel in wonder, shrink in terror, or beam with joy for a couple of hours. Being able to escape for that long has real value for me.  |
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