One of the saddest things about extreme tinnitus and hyperacusis is the loneliness that rides alongside them. People don't get it. They can't imagine such a brutal world, a violent landscape that presents such challenge and transforms the simple into things abysmal. Nonetheless, it's only natural that those who suffer would crave acceptance and understanding from them. Receiving empathy and sympathy are intrinsic desires because, after all, without them the world is a lonelier place. We look to others for comfort and support, but oftentimes don't get it from anyone, not the doctors, our friends, or even those who love us most, our own family. There's a lot of pushback, a very strong wave of disbelief; our claims are often met with skepticism and rebuked by the masses, as if we're imagining a hellish world for who knows what reason.
Those who live in this torment do so because there's a tormentor destroying their lives — in our case, a very real thing and not the product of imagination. I often have a realization: If those who don't believe could spend just 1 day in our shoes, they would totally change their tunes. They would realize what we're up against and the utter devastation that comes with such a plight. No longer would we face the mocking or belittling, or that misguided 2-cents about what to do or how to do it. They would thank God that their experience with such horror was short-lived, only a day and not an eternity. The world would take us seriously.
In life, when the simplest things are lost, it's a situation that's unconscionable. When you're allergic to most sounds, can't be around people, can't even exist in your own home almost. It's absolute hell, like a prison within a prison, or solitary confinement.
Every little thing is challenged. When you're sweating profusely on a 90°day because your ears can't tolerate the air conditioning, even when it's only 35 decibels. When a neighbor decides to cut their grass and they're so far away, a football-field distance, yet it still aggravates your ears, under your own roof. And on top of that, dealing with tinnitus that's not maskable and erratic, and literally painful, like electrical currents shocking and zapping 24/7.
The struggles that come with tinnitus and hyperacusis, when they're ultra severe, are beyond the realm of problems — they're catastrophic, waging war on the very construct of existence. I often frame this point by saying they make you incompatible with the world, which is very true. That's why I pray to God a lot about this. Because I personally believe in Him and know He'd understand the situation when no one else can. I've witnessed paranormal events in my life that, to me, prove there's a spiritual realm, and therefore a "God," and I personally believe in Jesus Christ and His promises.
Humanity doesn't understand us. Men and women don't. Society at large doesn't. And the governments of this world don't either. Even though these conditions exist in literature and medical textbooks, adequate funding isn't there to find treatments. Tinnitus, hyperacusis, and their power to destroy doesn't receive recognition or respect. They're often seen as lightweight disorders when, in actuality, they're some of the worst in the world when severe, rendering the sufferer unable to coexist with the framework of this very planet, and damning them to the confines of their own home, where they feel unsafe even there. But a living, existing God would truly understand the paradox of this dilemma, a world where you can't live and can't die either, as your condition isn't terminal, and never will be, and the suffering has no cap or ceiling, like an open sky that hugs the universe, its endless depth and blackness, where there is no limit, no scope or size, as it stretches on forever. And as we float into its dark abyss, we're like a helpless astronaut, free-falling into nothingness.
We've lost our ship and gravity. We have no control or handle on the situation, overtaken in the vacuum of a lifeless space, where there's nothing to grab onto and no hope in sight. We disconnect more and more, lose our minds little by little. Physical torment breaks us down as we wander through the cosmos and the days become eons, and lose their identities. But unlike the powerless astronaut, we never die. We float forever.
God may be the only one — besides fellow sufferers — who could ever understand these things and the paradox that we face; the severe trauma and isolation. God's creation was meant to be experienced, not hidden from. And that's why I call upon everyone to pray and seek Him, and to ask for help. We all want to experience His world and take part in it. But like this, we just can't. Let's call upon Him with that very message. Let the paradox be broken. Let us be reprieved.
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