This is the hardest story I've ever had to write, but I feel a deep need to share what really happened. It's important for me to put it out there in case my life takes a turn for the worse.
In 2023, I worked for a French construction company that specialized in concrete slabs. On May 16th, a colleague asked me to join him at a work site. As usual, I asked if we needed any protective gear, and he assured me we didn't—it was just a meeting with a client to inspect some on-site issues.
When we arrived, I noticed a large concrete saw—something I had never seen in action before. There were also two other workers from the company. We met with the client and discussed solutions to the problem. My colleague then asked me to stretch out a film to help the saw move more easily. Immediately after, the operator started the machine. I was crouched just two meters away, right beside it. The operator kept using the machine, despite how close I was and the fact that I had no hearing protection. My colleague signaled for me to cover my ears with my hands, but the pain was unbearable—something inside my eardrum felt like it snapped. I later learned the machine reached 130 dB.
On my way home, I felt extremely dizzy, and a high-pitched ringing started in my ears. But the most shocking thing was that every sound during my train ride caused me pain. I saw an on-call doctor, who noticed an issue with my eardrum and gave me a work accident certificate, as it was the employer's responsibility to provide hearing protection, which they hadn't done. I emailed the certificate to the company that same day.
Over the next few days, my symptoms worsened. The atmosphere at the office grew tense. I eventually spoke with my employer, F.B., because he hadn't reported the accident to social security within the required three-day period. When I asked him why, he responded with aggression and humiliation. Apparently, by seeing a doctor, I had "betrayed" the company. Now that social security was involved, the accident was going to cost them a lot of money. According to him, the whole company hated me, and I was useless—"I should be ashamed of having had an accident." The psychological pressure was so intense that he convinced me to sign a mutual termination agreement. Everything he said that day still echoes in my head a year and a half later.
After leaving the company, I hoped my symptoms would improve. I had no idea what was coming—painful hyperacusis, TTTS, and reactive tinnitus. In the months that followed, and even now, my life became increasingly limited. I went from being a music lover to someone who could barely listen to music. My entire identity was built around music, and now it feels like a thing of the past. My cello and guitar are just painful reminders. The pain I feel when leaving my house is only matched by the vertigo certain sounds cause. To make things worse, when I tried to rest my hearing in silence, the tinnitus would attack, preventing me from reading, watching TV, or even sleeping.
The severity of these symptoms was overwhelming. Around October, I reached out to my former employer, asking him to report the accident because, in France, this would cover medical expenses and offer compensation. I naively hoped to start some kind of TRT therapy. My former employer never responded.
Time passed, and social security contacted me, asking for my version of events. I found this strange. Apparently, my employer had claimed there were no witnesses.
Shortly after, I received documents in the mail. Social security had investigated my case and contacted the witnesses I had mentioned in my statement—witnesses I had tried to reach before, without success.
This was the lowest point of my life. Both witnesses claimed I had been 20 meters away from the saw, instead of the actual two meters. I couldn't believe what was happening. I started to panic—couldn't breathe, couldn't feel my limbs, couldn't think. My life was falling apart at just 37 years old, and it seemed my employer had convinced these witnesses to lie.
In the days that followed, I couldn't stop thinking about my employer, F.B., and the witness, A.C., who had asked me to stand beside the saw. These thoughts still haunt me today.
Near the end of 2023, the French social security made its decision: the accident wasn't recognized because of the false testimonies. My life flashed before my eyes—I had lost everything. I didn't want to live in a world like this anymore, so I took 30 Valium pills to end it all. Fortunately, my girlfriend found me unconscious on the bathroom floor and called the paramedics. I woke up in the hospital, where they started me on strong antidepressants.
To this day, none of my symptoms have improved, and I'm writing this as a way to fight my suicidal thoughts. I'm hoping to share my story with a community that might understand. I was the victim of something that will never be known outside this space; my life was stolen from me. The only thing keeping me alive right now is a cocktail of five different psychotropic drugs that don't ease the painful hyperacusis or calm my suicidal thoughts.
I miss music, I miss being able to talk to people, I miss going out and taking photos, and I miss feeling happiness.
Thank you for giving me this space. I hope to find some words of encouragement here.
In 2023, I worked for a French construction company that specialized in concrete slabs. On May 16th, a colleague asked me to join him at a work site. As usual, I asked if we needed any protective gear, and he assured me we didn't—it was just a meeting with a client to inspect some on-site issues.
When we arrived, I noticed a large concrete saw—something I had never seen in action before. There were also two other workers from the company. We met with the client and discussed solutions to the problem. My colleague then asked me to stretch out a film to help the saw move more easily. Immediately after, the operator started the machine. I was crouched just two meters away, right beside it. The operator kept using the machine, despite how close I was and the fact that I had no hearing protection. My colleague signaled for me to cover my ears with my hands, but the pain was unbearable—something inside my eardrum felt like it snapped. I later learned the machine reached 130 dB.
On my way home, I felt extremely dizzy, and a high-pitched ringing started in my ears. But the most shocking thing was that every sound during my train ride caused me pain. I saw an on-call doctor, who noticed an issue with my eardrum and gave me a work accident certificate, as it was the employer's responsibility to provide hearing protection, which they hadn't done. I emailed the certificate to the company that same day.
Over the next few days, my symptoms worsened. The atmosphere at the office grew tense. I eventually spoke with my employer, F.B., because he hadn't reported the accident to social security within the required three-day period. When I asked him why, he responded with aggression and humiliation. Apparently, by seeing a doctor, I had "betrayed" the company. Now that social security was involved, the accident was going to cost them a lot of money. According to him, the whole company hated me, and I was useless—"I should be ashamed of having had an accident." The psychological pressure was so intense that he convinced me to sign a mutual termination agreement. Everything he said that day still echoes in my head a year and a half later.
After leaving the company, I hoped my symptoms would improve. I had no idea what was coming—painful hyperacusis, TTTS, and reactive tinnitus. In the months that followed, and even now, my life became increasingly limited. I went from being a music lover to someone who could barely listen to music. My entire identity was built around music, and now it feels like a thing of the past. My cello and guitar are just painful reminders. The pain I feel when leaving my house is only matched by the vertigo certain sounds cause. To make things worse, when I tried to rest my hearing in silence, the tinnitus would attack, preventing me from reading, watching TV, or even sleeping.
The severity of these symptoms was overwhelming. Around October, I reached out to my former employer, asking him to report the accident because, in France, this would cover medical expenses and offer compensation. I naively hoped to start some kind of TRT therapy. My former employer never responded.
Time passed, and social security contacted me, asking for my version of events. I found this strange. Apparently, my employer had claimed there were no witnesses.
Shortly after, I received documents in the mail. Social security had investigated my case and contacted the witnesses I had mentioned in my statement—witnesses I had tried to reach before, without success.
This was the lowest point of my life. Both witnesses claimed I had been 20 meters away from the saw, instead of the actual two meters. I couldn't believe what was happening. I started to panic—couldn't breathe, couldn't feel my limbs, couldn't think. My life was falling apart at just 37 years old, and it seemed my employer had convinced these witnesses to lie.
In the days that followed, I couldn't stop thinking about my employer, F.B., and the witness, A.C., who had asked me to stand beside the saw. These thoughts still haunt me today.
Near the end of 2023, the French social security made its decision: the accident wasn't recognized because of the false testimonies. My life flashed before my eyes—I had lost everything. I didn't want to live in a world like this anymore, so I took 30 Valium pills to end it all. Fortunately, my girlfriend found me unconscious on the bathroom floor and called the paramedics. I woke up in the hospital, where they started me on strong antidepressants.
To this day, none of my symptoms have improved, and I'm writing this as a way to fight my suicidal thoughts. I'm hoping to share my story with a community that might understand. I was the victim of something that will never be known outside this space; my life was stolen from me. The only thing keeping me alive right now is a cocktail of five different psychotropic drugs that don't ease the painful hyperacusis or calm my suicidal thoughts.
I miss music, I miss being able to talk to people, I miss going out and taking photos, and I miss feeling happiness.
Thank you for giving me this space. I hope to find some words of encouragement here.
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