I 100% agree. Throughout all this I've often felt lost amongst the noises, and maybe this is what it all comes down to. We have got so wrapped up in what should be background noise/sensations that we've lost ourselves. I think that's where the true suffering comes in, not the noises themselves. It's the inability to continue with the sense of self we once had, but what if those people could re-emerge through the noise? Wouldn't that be something? What if we stopped living our lives based on what we are hearing and instead started living for what we are thinking and seeing and feeling? What if that's where the freedom lies?
What if this thing that has almost destroyed many of us could actually become inconsequential? Rebuilding your sense of self takes time, a lot of time, but I believe it can be done. We aren't tinnitus with people, we are people with tinnitus and it's important to remember the person always comes first, even in a sentence.
I get that some people feel the need to protect themselves in order to prevent worsening, but everyday noise won't harm you. It's never really occurred to me to try and protect my ears from anything because this was straight up bam your life is ruined. Didn't have a lot to lose from there I guess. I understand the desperation people feel though to prevent things getting worse, this isn't an easy thing to live with.
I very much agree. Perhaps the most important quality or trait we need to cultivate is courage. Tinnitus can make people despondent and downhearted, fearful and insecure, taking all the joy out of life. Earlier today I was thinking of a favourite poem by Louis MacNeice. In it he says 'but let your poison be your cure'. Here is the whole poem. It's called Thalassa:
Put out to sea, my broken comrades
Let the old seaweek crack, the surge
Burgeon, oblivious of the last
Embarkation of feckless men
Let every adverse force converge
Here we must needs embark again.
Run up the sail, my heartsick comrades,
Let each horizon tilt and lurch.
You know the worst, your wills are fickle
Your values blurred, your hearts impure
And your past lives a ruined church
But let your poison be your cure.
Put out to sea, ignoble comrades,
Whose records shall be noble yet
Butting through scarps of moving marble
The narwhal dares us to be free
By a high star our course is set
Our end is life. Put out to sea.