How Do I Human? And Other Questions I Can't Answer

It was 4 a.m. on a bitterly cold morning, and there I was, crying in the middle of the street, hunting for that noise. A sound that defied description—like a fridge buzzing through a wall, yet somehow managing to vibrate my very soul. It taunted me, no matter where I turned. I stomped around like a woman possessed, glaring at innocent streetlamps, accusing parked cars of sabotage, and shaking my fist at the heavens as if God himself had decided to play DJ in my head.

Spoiler alert: The noise wasn’t out there at all. It was in my head.

When Noise Sensitivity Meets Tinnitus

Welcome to the life of someone blessed with both tinnitus and extreme noise sensitivity—because apparently, one torment just isn’t enough.

Living with noise sensitivity feels a bit like being a contestant on Britain’s Got Fucking Misophonia. Everyday sounds morph into chaotic symphonies of misery. A blender’s roar? Torture. A dripping tap? Pure malevolence. Even the faint click of a pen cap in a silent room is enough to make me consider launching said pen into another dimension.

Interestingly, not all noises are bad. Predictable ones, like a fan’s steady hum, can be oddly soothing, like a security blanket for my brain. But unpredictable, uncontrollable noises—rain dripping on the windowsill, or a neighbour’s TV just on the edge of hearing—those are my nemeses. They trigger a maddening itch deep in my psyche, one I can’t scratch, no matter how hard I try. And when there’s no escape, tears (and sometimes fury) aren’t far behind.

The Night of the Phantom Noise

And then there’s tinnitus—my brain’s version of a long-running experimental soundtrack. That 4 a.m. incident? Let me set the stage.

The noise began days earlier. A low, persistent hum that seemed to vibrate through the walls. We had just moved into a new house—a sensory nightmare, as every creak, groan, and hum of unfamiliar surroundings seemed amplified tenfold. At first, I blamed the boiler. Then the radiators. Then the kettle, the fridge, and, eventually, the toaster—because why not?

By the third day, sleep was a distant memory, my nerves were in tatters, and my husband, unimpressed with my mutterings about “phantom hums,” was considering taping an entire pillow to my head.

By 2 a.m., I was standing in the garden, convinced the noise was emanating from the neighbour’s security light or our slightly wobbly garage door. By 3 a.m., I was crouched by the fridge like some kind of sleep-deprived gremlin.

By 4 a.m., armed with a torch and the last scraps of my dignity, I took to the street. Surely, surely the source of this infernal hum would reveal itself out there under the cold, indifferent stars.

And then it hit me. Standing in my slippers, tears streaming down my face, I opened my mouth to take a deep breath. The noise stopped. Silence. I closed my mouth. The noise resumed.

Cue me standing there, mouth flapping like a goldfish, until the horrifying truth dawned on me: The noise wasn’t external. It was in my head. My auditory system had decided to gaslight me, and I’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

The Science Behind the Sensory Chaos

Here’s where autism and ADHD enter the chat. Both conditions come with nervous systems that are, shall we say, a little extra. The neurodivergent brain is like a finely tuned instrument—except someone keeps plucking the strings at random, and the volume dial is permanently stuck on “too much.”

Certain sensory inputs, like noise, can trigger the fight-or-flight response, even when the noise itself is harmless. The unpredictability of a dripping tap or the neighbour’s muffled TV can feel threatening, as though your brain is constantly on high alert, scanning for danger in the mundane.

For me, tinnitus is the ultimate gaslighting experience. It’s my brain’s way of producing noise that doesn’t exist in the external world, all while convincing me it’s real. Pair that with noise sensitivity, and you’ve got a recipe for meltdown central.

Learning to Cope

Living with tinnitus and noise sensitivity has been a lifelong journey of adaptation, creative problem-solving, and occasionally, hysterical laughter.

1. Noise-Cancelling Headphones
   These are my daily armour. Whether it’s the roar of the vacuum cleaner or the enthusiastic chewing of a loved one, headphones are my saviour.
2. White Noise Machines
   The irony isn’t lost on me—using noise to block out noise feels a bit like setting a fire to put out a fire. But it works. My bedside fan is my best friend, and the thought of sleeping without it fills me with existential dread.
3. Selective Socialising
   Crowded pubs? Hard pass. Football matches? Absolutely not. But a quiet café or a serene walk in the woods? Now you’re speaking my language.
4. Humour
   If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry (or end up crying in the street at 4 a.m.). Sometimes, I imagine my tinnitus as an annoying but oddly endearing sidekick.

Finding the Silver Lining

As maddening as it all is, living with tinnitus and noise sensitivity has taught me resilience, self-care, and the importance of setting boundaries. It’s also given me some truly ridiculous stories—like this one—to tell.

So, here’s to noisy neighbours, midnight fridge interrogations, and phantom hums. Life with tinnitus and noise sensitivity is anything but dull. I may not always win the battle of the brain, but I’m certainly keeping things interesting.