Living with Chronic Tinnitus and How to Tune Out the Ringing

In January of 2019, I hit my head on a fridge, passed out, and woke up with a mild concussion. A few days later, I heard a high-pitched ringing, which seemed to come from my ears themselves. That night, the noise grew so loud that I couldn’t sleep; I could barely think; I believed I was losing my mind. Just like that, I had developed chronic tinnitus--and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to silence it.

At its most basic, tinnitus involves the perception of sounds that other people can’t hear (though in 1% of cases, that sound is audible to others as well). Around 15% of people will experience some form of tinnitus, and it usually lasts a few minutes, or at most, days. But about 5% of people experience chronic tinnitus, meaning their ringing doesn’t go away. Ever. 

You know when you get a terrible song stuck in your head on repeat? Imagine that, but louder. And longer. And just overall worse. 

Of course, ringing is only one type of tinnitus. There’s also hissing, heartbeat, and even music tinnitus. Some people, including myself, have comorbid hyperacusis and snow vision, or “visual tinnitus.” All of these conditions piled together can make it difficult to go to bed, or to even wake up, or to want to do much of anything at all. And yet, sitting there listening to the noise is one of the worst things you can possibly do. 

When I first received my diagnosis, my doctor told me, “Stay busy.” At the time, I was still recovering from my concussion, so staying busy wasn’t really an option. But as I started healing, I returned to writing. I exercised. I talked more, and I listened to music, and I played with my dogs, and I hung out with my friends and family. In short, I avoided silence--or rather, I avoided what used to be silence, which was now filled with the constant ringing. 

It’s easy to feel upset that you’ll never hear silence again, but as my therapist said, “Silence isn’t normal.” She’s right--even in nature, there’s plenty of sounds, from chirping birds to rustling leaves. On that note, finding a therapist was an important step in coping, and finding the right one was especially helpful. She taught me to play pink noise when I go to bed, which drowns out the ringing; she taught me to take better care of myself, since stress makes the ringing worse, and to be honest with others about my needs and limitations. 

If I wanted sound in the background, it was ok to play music. If a show was too loud, it was ok to ask someone to make it lower. And if I was having a T-spike and feeling panicky, it was ok to tell someone, “Hey, I’m having a T-spike and feeling panicky.” Sometimes, it can help to have someone talk you through the worst of it--their voice is a lifeline, something to focus on that isn’t ringing. 

Today, I still play pink noise in order to sleep. I still fill my time with writing, exercise, family and friends. I’ll probably never be able to switch off the ringing, not even for a moment, but the prospect is no longer as terrifying. Sure, there will be times when the noise is especially loud or distracting--there will be times, as there have been times, when I curl up in a ball, hold my ears, and feel like I’m going nuts. But those times are few and far between, because I’ve learned to reshape the narrative.

My tinnitus reminds me of what I’ve overcome--I’m not longer concussed, and I’m constantly healing. Constantly better than I was. The noise encourages me to stay busy and to keep moving forward, to never give up when things get hard. My tinnitus tells me that I’m strong, even as it tries to break me down. 

Instead of trying to silence my T, I’ve learned to make the best of it. 

I’m not saying that my tinnitus is a positive, innately, or that I’m always able to view it in a positive light; I’m saying I’m determined to make that light as bright as possible, because the alternative isn’t an option. So long as there are positives to be found in my ringing, I’m going to continue searching. And so long as I have tinnitus, which might be forever, I’m going to find ways to tune it out; accept it; or else use it as a rallying cry to make time for the things and people I love.