We moved around furniture and my spot is next to the kitchen where plates are kept in a drying rack.
I can't see it and unless forewarned the sharp crack of crockery on crockery is scary as shit and I typically yell with fright and scream "What the fuck was that?!"
Hyperaccocius and PTSD caused by workplace injury an injury still present years on; the conditions that allowed my injury still in place.
I skulked off to my room and put white noise on.
My job is to fix things but I'm bummed I can't fix me; at least not completely.
But I'm still here; that is something. Even if the price of more life is to be scared of normal noises.