Trigger warning: depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and emotional distress.
Hey. This is going to be a long and sad story, so maybe grab some tea and snacks. Apologies in advance for any grammatical mistakes.
I'm a 31-year-old man, and life has rarely been pleasant for me. Since the age of seven, I've moved from one struggle to another. My life feels like a sequence of crises, each one marked by the need to overcome something enormous. There may even be something fatalistic about it. Constant stress and anxiety have left me on edge for years. To calm my nerves, I started listening to music, and I fell in love with it. I listened to music through headphones at loud volumes for about fifteen years. I had no idea what tinnitus was. I accepted that I might damage my hearing for the sake of music, the same way our vision tends to worsen with age.
There were good days in between the difficult phases. I've lived through a lot in the past fifteen years. There was a time when I felt like I had lost everything. I asked the universe for a second chance, and it gave me one. That problem was not health-related, and even though it was extremely difficult, it was solvable. After that, I began to value life on a whole new level.
But with that appreciation came fear—fear of losing my health, my job, my relationships, my home. I became suspicious and controlling. I tried to be perfect. I could not tolerate mistakes. I knew how fragile everything was, and I was determined to protect the life I had regained. I felt like someone whose death sentence had been lifted at the last moment. I tried to live fully and safely at the same time, knowing how easily it could all vanish. "Memento mori" became my motto.
Yet I kept postponing happiness. I told myself that 2024 would be the last year of struggle. I finally got my own apartment and almost finished renovating it. My health was stable, work was going well, and I was doing sports, making music, and learning languages. I believed I was ready to enter the best years of my life. I looked forward to 2025 with excitement, telling myself that the years between 31 and 40 would be the best yet. All the stars seemed to be aligning. The losses of the past began to make sense. Life felt like a perfect puzzle, ready to come together. I was prepared to write the most beautiful chapters of my story. Sometimes I could not stop smiling at the thought of how good life was about to become.
Then came the quote: "If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans."
About a week before my tinnitus became constant, I heard a short tone that lasted for a few minutes. That had never happened before. It occurred after I forced in some uncomfortable foam in-ear headphones. It went away after that, but on the evening of April 14, 2025, the real tinnitus began. The next morning I woke up with it. April 15 was the blackest day of my life.
I immediately booked an ENT appointment. I was sure the noise would go away, either on its own or with medication. But on my way to work, I read the Wikipedia article and a few Reddit posts. That was enough to break something inside me. I saw that tinnitus can be permanent. I saw that people live in a nightmare. I saw that some have taken their lives because of it. I could not believe it was true. Honestly, I still can't. My body was hit by a wave of panic and fear unlike anything in recent years.
At first I was in a kind of shock. I stopped researching tinnitus, thinking it was too early to draw conclusions. The ENT doctor ran the Rinne and Weber tests, and based on my symptoms, I was diagnosed with sudden sensorineural hearing loss. I was hospitalized that same evening. That news actually brought me hope. There was a diagnosis. The doctor told me it was treatable, especially since I had come in immediately. My mood lifted. I even thought the hospital stay would be an adventure I'd one day laugh about over a beer.
In the hospital, I was calm. I trusted the doctors. I was given a private room. I received my first Dexamethasone drip and felt relieved that things were being handled. But that same evening, I noticed the tinnitus had now spread to the other ear.
By the next day, I was still hopeful. I took pictures of the hospital food and shared updates with my friends. But by Thursday, the tinnitus had become louder. My mood dropped. I began to feel signs of depression. My appetite disappeared. The thought that the tinnitus might not go away became harder to ignore. My entire life began to unravel.
Within hours, my mind filled with the darkest thoughts. Everything I had built inside myself over the years collapsed. I felt like a skyscraper that had crumbled to the ground. All I could do was pick through the rubble. The life I had known was gone. I started referring to it as my "old life." I could no longer listen to music. I knew I had to give up making music. It felt like I had been skinned alive.
All my dreams began to fade, like in the movie Requiem for a Dream. The future I had once seen so clearly was gone. On Friday, the doctor confirmed that the tinnitus might be permanent. I asked how anyone could live like this without sleep. She said some people take sleeping pills for life. She said it like it was normal. I was shocked. What kind of world is this?
I was discharged on April 22.
The tinnitus is high frequency, bilateral, and sometimes sounds like sand or a squeal. It is somatic. The loudest it has ever been was about five out of ten. Now it usually stays around one to three. One day, after standing up quickly from a nap, I developed a new low-frequency tone. It sounded like leaking gas or an open soda bottle. I usually fall asleep within an hour, and I do not take any medication because I fear making things worse. My MRI, CT scan, ultrasound, and extended audiogram showed no hearing loss.
I was terrified to go home. I was not the same person anymore. That night was one of the worst. I called an ambulance at five in the morning. I hoped I would be taken back to the hospital, where maybe another ENT could help. It was a mistake. I told the paramedic everything. I still could not believe that there was nothing to be done.
He was blunt. "It's for life," he said. He even told me he had tinnitus too. When he left, his parting words were, "We can't help you," and "We will all die someday." I am not joking. At that moment, I regretted not being older. I wished I had lived 90 years, not 30. The suicidal ideation became daily from then on.
The days after that were hollow. I stopped taking care of myself. I gave up all my hobbies. I stopped doing sports. I did not clean my home. My life shrank into the size of tinnitus. I could not find comfort in anything. I felt like I had hit an unbreakable wall, and all I could do was collapse against it. Philosophy did not help. No coping tool worked. I felt dead inside, forced to suffer in my body for the rest of my life. The past, present, and future were all poisoned. I mourned memories I once took for granted. Everything reminded me of the joy I had lost.
Things changed a little when I decided to return to the internet and read about tinnitus again. I found others with the same pain. I read this forum, then Reddit, then Tinnitus Talk. I binged for hours. For the first time in nearly two weeks, I did not feel entirely alone.
One idea that helped me was to monitor how I react to tinnitus. The goal was to stop reacting with fear or negativity. That was difficult. I also learned more about tinnitus itself, which gave me a small sense of control.
I met my ex, who had supported me during my hospital stay. It was painful. We walked through our old places, but I felt like a ghost. She hinted at wanting to get back together. But I knew she wanted the old me, and he was gone. I left that meeting feeling emptier than ever.
I turned to gaming. I chose single-player games so I would not be reminded of past memories. I chose the Dark Souls series. The atmosphere fit my mood. For two weeks I disappeared into those games, sometimes playing up to ten hours a day. For the first time since the onset of tinnitus, I was able to focus on something else for long stretches. It was not a cure, but it was a break.
On June 1, six weeks after the onset, I cried for the first time in six years. I had refused to meet my ex again, even though a second chance at love was on the table. Tinnitus had taken that from me too. I cried again a few weeks later. It felt like saying goodbye to my old life.
When I met her again recently, it went better. I was able to explain everything. I shared my fears—of becoming the subject of a tragic forum thread, of developing severe hyperacusis, of living in a soundproof room, of having children and being unable to care for them. She understood. She still wanted to be with me, but I declined. I cannot be a partner in my current state.
So here I am, two and a half months later. I have lost all joy. I have abandoned my hobbies, my dreams, and even music. I do not drink or socialize. I do not care about the news. A promotion at work barely registered. All I thought was that more money might increase my chances of survival.
I know that many people with tinnitus live full lives. They marry, have children, and find happiness. But I am afraid to try. I am afraid of being happy, because tinnitus can take it away again at any moment. My anxiety over severe tinnitus is worse than the condition itself.
I do not feel suicidal right now. I am just stuck. I am not moving forward. No one should live in constant fear and suffering. It is shameful that this condition is so common and yet so overlooked.
Maybe one day there will be a way to keep tinnitus at a manageable level. Then I could plan again. Then I could build a future. Like that meme of Ryan Gosling: "I live in case things get better."
Until then, I am just surviving.
Hey. This is going to be a long and sad story, so maybe grab some tea and snacks. Apologies in advance for any grammatical mistakes.
I'm a 31-year-old man, and life has rarely been pleasant for me. Since the age of seven, I've moved from one struggle to another. My life feels like a sequence of crises, each one marked by the need to overcome something enormous. There may even be something fatalistic about it. Constant stress and anxiety have left me on edge for years. To calm my nerves, I started listening to music, and I fell in love with it. I listened to music through headphones at loud volumes for about fifteen years. I had no idea what tinnitus was. I accepted that I might damage my hearing for the sake of music, the same way our vision tends to worsen with age.
There were good days in between the difficult phases. I've lived through a lot in the past fifteen years. There was a time when I felt like I had lost everything. I asked the universe for a second chance, and it gave me one. That problem was not health-related, and even though it was extremely difficult, it was solvable. After that, I began to value life on a whole new level.
But with that appreciation came fear—fear of losing my health, my job, my relationships, my home. I became suspicious and controlling. I tried to be perfect. I could not tolerate mistakes. I knew how fragile everything was, and I was determined to protect the life I had regained. I felt like someone whose death sentence had been lifted at the last moment. I tried to live fully and safely at the same time, knowing how easily it could all vanish. "Memento mori" became my motto.
Yet I kept postponing happiness. I told myself that 2024 would be the last year of struggle. I finally got my own apartment and almost finished renovating it. My health was stable, work was going well, and I was doing sports, making music, and learning languages. I believed I was ready to enter the best years of my life. I looked forward to 2025 with excitement, telling myself that the years between 31 and 40 would be the best yet. All the stars seemed to be aligning. The losses of the past began to make sense. Life felt like a perfect puzzle, ready to come together. I was prepared to write the most beautiful chapters of my story. Sometimes I could not stop smiling at the thought of how good life was about to become.
Then came the quote: "If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans."
About a week before my tinnitus became constant, I heard a short tone that lasted for a few minutes. That had never happened before. It occurred after I forced in some uncomfortable foam in-ear headphones. It went away after that, but on the evening of April 14, 2025, the real tinnitus began. The next morning I woke up with it. April 15 was the blackest day of my life.
I immediately booked an ENT appointment. I was sure the noise would go away, either on its own or with medication. But on my way to work, I read the Wikipedia article and a few Reddit posts. That was enough to break something inside me. I saw that tinnitus can be permanent. I saw that people live in a nightmare. I saw that some have taken their lives because of it. I could not believe it was true. Honestly, I still can't. My body was hit by a wave of panic and fear unlike anything in recent years.
At first I was in a kind of shock. I stopped researching tinnitus, thinking it was too early to draw conclusions. The ENT doctor ran the Rinne and Weber tests, and based on my symptoms, I was diagnosed with sudden sensorineural hearing loss. I was hospitalized that same evening. That news actually brought me hope. There was a diagnosis. The doctor told me it was treatable, especially since I had come in immediately. My mood lifted. I even thought the hospital stay would be an adventure I'd one day laugh about over a beer.
In the hospital, I was calm. I trusted the doctors. I was given a private room. I received my first Dexamethasone drip and felt relieved that things were being handled. But that same evening, I noticed the tinnitus had now spread to the other ear.
By the next day, I was still hopeful. I took pictures of the hospital food and shared updates with my friends. But by Thursday, the tinnitus had become louder. My mood dropped. I began to feel signs of depression. My appetite disappeared. The thought that the tinnitus might not go away became harder to ignore. My entire life began to unravel.
Within hours, my mind filled with the darkest thoughts. Everything I had built inside myself over the years collapsed. I felt like a skyscraper that had crumbled to the ground. All I could do was pick through the rubble. The life I had known was gone. I started referring to it as my "old life." I could no longer listen to music. I knew I had to give up making music. It felt like I had been skinned alive.
All my dreams began to fade, like in the movie Requiem for a Dream. The future I had once seen so clearly was gone. On Friday, the doctor confirmed that the tinnitus might be permanent. I asked how anyone could live like this without sleep. She said some people take sleeping pills for life. She said it like it was normal. I was shocked. What kind of world is this?
I was discharged on April 22.
The tinnitus is high frequency, bilateral, and sometimes sounds like sand or a squeal. It is somatic. The loudest it has ever been was about five out of ten. Now it usually stays around one to three. One day, after standing up quickly from a nap, I developed a new low-frequency tone. It sounded like leaking gas or an open soda bottle. I usually fall asleep within an hour, and I do not take any medication because I fear making things worse. My MRI, CT scan, ultrasound, and extended audiogram showed no hearing loss.
I was terrified to go home. I was not the same person anymore. That night was one of the worst. I called an ambulance at five in the morning. I hoped I would be taken back to the hospital, where maybe another ENT could help. It was a mistake. I told the paramedic everything. I still could not believe that there was nothing to be done.
He was blunt. "It's for life," he said. He even told me he had tinnitus too. When he left, his parting words were, "We can't help you," and "We will all die someday." I am not joking. At that moment, I regretted not being older. I wished I had lived 90 years, not 30. The suicidal ideation became daily from then on.
The days after that were hollow. I stopped taking care of myself. I gave up all my hobbies. I stopped doing sports. I did not clean my home. My life shrank into the size of tinnitus. I could not find comfort in anything. I felt like I had hit an unbreakable wall, and all I could do was collapse against it. Philosophy did not help. No coping tool worked. I felt dead inside, forced to suffer in my body for the rest of my life. The past, present, and future were all poisoned. I mourned memories I once took for granted. Everything reminded me of the joy I had lost.
Things changed a little when I decided to return to the internet and read about tinnitus again. I found others with the same pain. I read this forum, then Reddit, then Tinnitus Talk. I binged for hours. For the first time in nearly two weeks, I did not feel entirely alone.
One idea that helped me was to monitor how I react to tinnitus. The goal was to stop reacting with fear or negativity. That was difficult. I also learned more about tinnitus itself, which gave me a small sense of control.
I met my ex, who had supported me during my hospital stay. It was painful. We walked through our old places, but I felt like a ghost. She hinted at wanting to get back together. But I knew she wanted the old me, and he was gone. I left that meeting feeling emptier than ever.
I turned to gaming. I chose single-player games so I would not be reminded of past memories. I chose the Dark Souls series. The atmosphere fit my mood. For two weeks I disappeared into those games, sometimes playing up to ten hours a day. For the first time since the onset of tinnitus, I was able to focus on something else for long stretches. It was not a cure, but it was a break.
On June 1, six weeks after the onset, I cried for the first time in six years. I had refused to meet my ex again, even though a second chance at love was on the table. Tinnitus had taken that from me too. I cried again a few weeks later. It felt like saying goodbye to my old life.
When I met her again recently, it went better. I was able to explain everything. I shared my fears—of becoming the subject of a tragic forum thread, of developing severe hyperacusis, of living in a soundproof room, of having children and being unable to care for them. She understood. She still wanted to be with me, but I declined. I cannot be a partner in my current state.
So here I am, two and a half months later. I have lost all joy. I have abandoned my hobbies, my dreams, and even music. I do not drink or socialize. I do not care about the news. A promotion at work barely registered. All I thought was that more money might increase my chances of survival.
I know that many people with tinnitus live full lives. They marry, have children, and find happiness. But I am afraid to try. I am afraid of being happy, because tinnitus can take it away again at any moment. My anxiety over severe tinnitus is worse than the condition itself.
I do not feel suicidal right now. I am just stuck. I am not moving forward. No one should live in constant fear and suffering. It is shameful that this condition is so common and yet so overlooked.
Maybe one day there will be a way to keep tinnitus at a manageable level. Then I could plan again. Then I could build a future. Like that meme of Ryan Gosling: "I live in case things get better."
Until then, I am just surviving.
