As if I had to throw up the whole world

I knew it was going to go wrong. It started early. Yet another attempt to reach our vehicle’s diesel tank with a hose failed again. We were under pressure. Had to be home on time. And I was on my period. And I needed to eat.

But I couldn’t. Not with that smell. Friday = mum’s laundry day. And that means: everything reeks of detergent. My bed. My clothes. The air around me. I know what it does to me. Because I have hyperosmia, an extremely heightened sense of smell, often linked to autism, trauma, HSP or migraines.

But “sensitivity” sounds far too mild. This isn’t nuance. It’s an assault on my nervous system. My body hits the alarm. My digestion shuts down. My whole system overloads.

Yesterday, I threw up. Multiple times. I had diarrhea. My body did what I couldn’t do myself: reject everything. Even the tiniest bit of food wouldn’t go down.

Later (finally stepping outside) we find dog poop in the middle of the garden. She hadn’t checked. And we had to patch my bike tire right next to it. Flies all over the poop. Flies landing on me.

As if that wasn’t enough, the neighbors came out with guests. Three small kids screaming in the garden. Noise. Chaos. And then a man a few houses down fired up a loud power tool.

I broke. The smell. The pressure. The noise.
The complete lack of control. And then I dropped nearly half a kilo of expensive superfood berries and nuts. Sticky. Gone. Everything literally slipped from my hands.

This is hyperosmia. Not just one scent. Not one bad day. But a bucket that’s been overflowing for months.

I’ve tried to explain this so many times. But it stays invisible. “It’s just a smell, right?” No. It’s a full-body shutdown. It’s surviving in your own home.

I have no room left to explain. I need space. Real space. Outside these walls. Outside this system.