Ice Crunching: A Personality Flaw

Let’s talk about ice crunching. Not casually. Not politely. Urgently.

Because when someone starts chewing ice near me, my body reacts like the world is ending specifically for me in that exact moment. Sirens go off internally. Time STOPS. My soul leaves my body and files a noise complaint with fake God.

It’s the sound.

That dry, hollow, chalk-on-teeth CRACKLE-SMASH-POP.

It bypasses rhyme. It ignores reason. It punches straight through my brain stem and flips the table in my nervous system.

And here’s the cruel math of it all:

I KNOW it’s temporary.

I KNOW it’ll be over in seconds.

I KNOW there are 23 hours and 57 minutes left in the day with ZERO ICE NOISES.

But in those few seconds? I lose my damn mind.

I’m sitting there chanting internally: It’s a blip. It will end. Ignore the person. Ignore the ice.

Meanwhile my spirit is screaming, WHY WOULD YOU CHOOSE THIS?

Ice is not food.

Ice is a decision.

A loud one.

And yes… my thoughts go dark. I imagine immediate, cartoonish karma. Not death. Not real injury. Just… consequences. A dramatic pause. A lesson learned. A solemn vow to never crunch again. I want justice, not jail.

But THEN… plot twist.

I discovered something horrifying.

Ice crunchers don’t know how bad it sounds.

They don’t hear it the way we do. To them, it’s a gentle lil crunch. A refreshing little moment. Meanwhile to the rest of us, it’s a hundred little sonic booms.

And here’s where I must confess my sin.

Don’t judge me.

Because despite everything I’ve said…

Despite my rage…

Despite my trauma…

I crunch the FUCK out of ice!

Like an animal.

Like I’ve never known peace.

Like I’m competing in an Olympic Ice Crunching Event.

And when I do it?

Silent. Angelic. Harmless.

(That’s called hypocrisy, and I live there.)

So yes… I hate ice crunching.

I am triggered by it.

It sends me into a brief downward spiral.

And yes… I will continue to do it myself with zero shame.

Growth is recognizing your flaws.

Healing is crunching anyway.

XOXO,AB 💅💄💋