Reflecting on my Tinnitus
It’s like it’s not true,
because whatever you say or do
nobody else can hear
this endless, relentless din.
Can’t turn it off or down
can’t win.
Only I,
am here to hear
the sheer cruelty,
the level of ringing.
Noise of the devil,
me alone
to bear and hear.
It seems that
nothing can be done.
My invisible torturer
seems to have won
as everlasting and alone,
I hear.
Even my husband,
gentle as a foal,
hasn’t a clue
what plagues my soul.
It’s a miracle
that I hear
over what I hear.
There isn’t any actual pain
yet the constant irritant
that will still remain
in here,
so near,
sheer noise I hear.
Notes.
It is about fifteen years since the tinnitus began after a nasty bout of Labyrinthitis when I was not able to even stand up unsupported.
It was over a month before I could be trusted not to fall over.
I had treatment at the hospital.
Didn’t work.
Maybe it is my imagination, but the Tinnitus seems to have got worse during the last dreadful year.
Or perhaps is it the just lack of conversation when I am alone a lot of the time.
And/or because there are more very quiet times, I simply notice it more.
I have the radio on most of the time tuned into Classic FM softly while I write louder when moving around, which helps.
Miss chatting to all my friends, I will have to make do with these chaps who seem very friendly.
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