When the noise started, I entered a state of perpetual panic and despair. It was unstoppable. Then, in the snows of Transylvania, I suddenly came to terms with the sound …
I
developed tinnitus the same night I was offered my first book deal at the end of 2014. I’d received the news late-afternoon, then went out for cocktails with two friends to celebrate. I remember the evening well: we’d gone somewhere loud but not too loud; I ordered a fluorescent orange drink that I didn’t enjoy. Before I went to bed, I spoke to my boyfriend on the phone. “This could really change your life,” he said.
Sometime in the early hours of the following morning, I woke up with a ringing in my ears that has not gone away since.
Tinnitus often appears out of nowhere. Some describe it as like standing next to the engine of a plane, or caught within a colony of flying bats. The sound I woke with wasn’t so bad: a sort of midpoint between the hiss of television static and the roar of the ocean. At first I thought it must have been coming from my phone, which was usually inches away from my face as I slept. I then searched my room for malfunctioning electronics, before realising with bracing horror that the noise was coming from inside my brain.
