I vividly remember my doctor first telling me I had tinnitus. He told me that my labyrnthitis in my left ear may have contributed, but essentially, I’d caused a spike of hearing loss in my left ear, which confused my brain into thinking it had to make up for the loss by amplifying specific frequencies for me all the time, forever. To simplify, it sounds like a tiny person has jumped in my ear, stomped on all their distortion pedals, and then put put their tiny guitar next to their tiny amplifier to cause a wall of feedback. You know, like the end of a Mogwai gig or something. But in this scenario playing out in my skull, the crew don’t walk back on stage and switch off the amplifiers. It never ever stops.
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The first thing you do when you develop tinnitus is outright refuse to accept it. […] I bought a tinnitus pillow, which plays music into your ears as you sleep, as a form of distraction. That was fun for a while, but didn’t help either. Finally, I went to a therapist who gave me ear plugs that generated white noise. I was told to listen to them for a few hours a day, but these were the worst. They were a constant reminder that I had a hearing problem.
As I ticked off various treatments, it became increasingly clear that nothing was working. I started to dread falling asleep. In fact, I started getting so drunk each night that I would knock myself out, so that I didn’t have to face listening to the sound of regret screaming in my ear. But drinking only worked until I became dependant. For some reason, it also made the ringing worse. I knew deep down that if I exposed myself to loud music for prolonged amounts of time that I would exacerbate an already crippling affliction, but I also found that without listening to any music, or some sort of noise at a low level all day long, I was just alone with that ringing. And, let me tell you, it drives you insane. Alone with the ringing is a dangerous place to be.
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Fast forward to present day and here I am, in a silent room in my Berlin flat, with my beloved radio turned off, writing about the screaming in my ear. Yep, he’s still here, with bells on. The radio is off because I need silence to write. But I dread silence. I hate it now. My mum told me to be careful using the word “hate” as it is such a strong word. She told me that you can only truly hate something having loved it first. Well, I f***ing loved silence. Silence really was golden. These days I find it hard to believe it ever existed.
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The irony of this entire article is that I really don’t like talking about tinnitus. It only makes me more aware of it and it drives me through the roof. Maybe that’s why the issue has been such a slow one to gather pace, because the last thing sufferers want to do is talk about their suffering. But people need to know. If you love loud music then enjoy it, but enjoy it sensibly. If you frequent live music venues on a regular basis, buy a decent pair of ear plugs. If you listen to music on headphones, make sure you give your ears regular breaks. And if you want to help push things forward, talk to people about tinnitus. Help us spread the word. There is so much research that needs to be done and for this, and so much money that needs to be raised for the BTA. Let me tell you: silence is absolutely beautiful, so make sure you cherish it.
My personal experience was not helped by having seen two ENT specialists who failed to appreciate how tinnitus would affect an introverted, silence-loving person like me who lived alone, despite me telling them all this. Also, my relatives seemed to think I was overreacting to my situation. Fortunately, my friends were more supportive.