By Ivanessa Arostegui

I lost all hearing in my left ear on December 2022, which came as a shock because I was only thirty-seven. I had fallen asleep with large headphones on while listening to a video on YouTube at a moderate volume level, and it created a vacuum on both sides, and maybe an acoustic trauma. When I woke there was a huge pressure in both of my ears, one regulated—meaning the Eustachian tube wasn’t maintaining equal pressure between the middle ear and external environment—and one that couldn’t hear a thing. When I started to hear a little, it was accompanied with hearing sensitivity and a ringing in my ear that made me have suicidal ideation.

Sounds were super loud and uncomfortable. While I couldn’t hear a lot of noises in the beginning of this hearing ordeal, sometimes there were sounds which, when I heard them with no ear protection, sounded really distorted immediately. For example, a beep from an answering machine was heard as if the sound itself were broken up into tiny fragments. This may have been dysacusis, a hearing condition where a distorted, unnatural, or broken processing of sound is particularly evident with the frequency or intensity of sounds. With my hyperacusis symptoms, glasses and silverware being set on a table or clanking against a plate, doors squeaking or slamming, or anything loud, for that matter, were absolutely horrible. These sensations were happening instantly, not delayed. One time I drove with noise-cancelling headphones on and the car tires on the road actually caused physical pain in my ears. However, this was an isolated incident; my symptoms were more akin to loudness hyperacusis, which caused a lot of physical torture, and also caused a lot of psychological trauma due to my limitations. I would say my severity level was moderate.

My ringing worsened in response to loud sounds, meaning it was reactive tinnitus. It felt like these symptoms were all connected, my tinnitus, hearing loss, hyperacusis, and sound distortion an overlapping system perfectly in synch with one another. I tried not to leave my house unless I had to while wearing ear protection.

These conditions affected my life extensively. They delayed the writing of my PhD thesis. I am still going to finish, but later than intended. However, I was able to continue with my job: teaching students at a university. I couldn’t hangout with my friends in social settings for a long time, and had become very sedentary and isolated.

I sought a doctor and was given steroids and had an MRI of my brain. Neither benefited me. But today, three years later, my hearing, which was at zero percent at its worst, is roughly seventy percent; the tinnitus and hyperacusis are a lot better, too. I have been protecting my hearing with earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones, which have been part of my everyday routine, and sleeping comfortably with no protection on, which is nice because it gives my ears a break. I feel I made a huge recovery by vigilantly protecting my hearing. Now I wear earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones when leaving home. And occasionally I can take the earplugs out if the environment is quiet enough. Honestly, my loving and patient partner made this nightmare navigable. I’m very thankful for that.

This is my explanation for what the darkest times resembled allegorically. When I lost all my hearing, it was like something sunk me to the bottom of the ocean. All the sounds of my life became dull and distorted. And that caused all the colors to become dull as well. Nothing was the same. It was like living life at the bottom of the sea. You’re always separated from all the life on land.

Over time, while I felt myself rising only slowly, any movement was welcomed. Sometimes, something unexpected would suddenly happen, and I’d sink deeper again. Bad luck and loud sounds would grab me by the foot and pull me deeper into the depths of the abyss. When everything was already too much and I was going crazy with desperation, I wanted to scream. I could not scream, though, because I knew the water would come in if I did; the sea would crawl inside and I would die in despair, drowning.

But I’ve been strong, holding on; especially strong in my first year. I lived in a cage of obsession over every sound. Sometimes I still do. The soundtrack in my head was a song, the song of the eternally torturing bells, a song that my ear was making a part of my soul.

I was getting closer to the surface of the water and the tortuous song was getting quieter, but how could I know if I would ever get out of the water and far away from it? How could I know if my life would have vibrant colors once again, songs I could enjoy, or gentle affections like caressing my partner in bed without thinking about how I position this ear (thankfully we can caress easily now). I was tired of living life submerged, unable to speak and hear my own voice clearly (I can hear my own voice without distortion now).

When I was below the ocean I felt alone sometimes because it was difficult for anyone to understand the physical and psychological nightmare that it was. I get why, though. Without experiencing this, I myself would have had a hard time understanding it.

Over the years, I put on a strong face and lived my life as freely as I could—with a smile, too—but I always wondered what would become of me. I just wanted to return to land, to have freedom, even more so with those I love. You take for granted what you have until you lose it. I don’t know if this story will help you understand what I went through, and am still going through, but I hope the analogies can help.

Today, I feel like I’m sitting on the shore of the beach, still hearing the waves but mostly on land. I really want to run away and see fireworks and scream into the air. Maybe one day. My hearing improved in tandem with the tinnitus, hyperacusis, and the sound distortion that may have been dysacusis, and I consider that a great success. Being on land was enough to make me feel I at least got my life back. Though I cry for the people who are submerged in the ocean and never get out. I understand their pain and it’s terrifying. I hope we can all get out one day, and that my story makes readers feel hope if they’re in this situation.

Disclaimer

If you’re suffering from suicidal thoughts, you’re not alone. You can call or text 988 for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also chat with 988lifeline.org. Or text MHA to 741741 for the Crisis Text Line. Or, for a comprehensive list pertaining to different countries, visit the following link: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines.