A Different World

Missing

Of everything, I missed genuine silence the most. I missed the silence that was generated gradually and normally, not the silence that was forced upon me. I missed hearing the voices of others, the real ones, not the ones inside my head. It's not even the fact that I'm deaf that upsets me the most. No, no, I know plenty of people who are content and at ease with it. I think the thing that upset me the most was what I lost; I was at first blind to what I gained. I was used to having perfect hearing, so when the accident happened and the sounds started to fade... Needless to say, I had a hard time adjusting. I still do. I don't really experience silence, though, if I am being honest. The world is never silent. It's impossible. Even for those of us who are deaf, we don't really go through silence. We can't hear silence, just like we can't hear much else. Well, that's a lie, actually. In a way. We hear things, just in peculiar ways. Even our thoughts have voices, our minds scream the words. It's just...Different.

I can hardly remember what it's like to hear the things that others do. I hear a sort of white noise... Is that what you call it? I can't even recall what white noise is like. A hum, perhaps? Yes, that's it. A hum. It's very difficult to explain. My thoughts scream, but they don't really have an audible voice, I suppose. Sometimes, I think I can still hear things. For the most part, they're imagined, in my head. Like when someone drops a plate, I can still imagine the crash, I swear I can feel it, but for me, it will never be there. It will always just be that numb echoing in the back of my skull. The doctors said that I went deaf because of the accident. I think that makes sense, in one way or another, because on the day of the accident, I heard too much, too well. I can't erase those screams, those terrible cries and collisions, from my head. They're stuck, lodged in there, like a broken record stuck on a terrifying repeat. Maybe that's what bothers me the most. Maybe that's why I wish I wasn't deaf. Because maybe then I'd be able to block out my thoughts with other sounds, with music.

Music. God, I miss music. I miss sneaking out late at night to go to concerts. Yeah, I used to do that. I had a life, you know. I still do. It's just... Different. I miss tuning people out. It's harder to do that now, ironically. You can tune them out, but you can never tune yourself out. I can't necessarily hear music; I can feel it. I can feel the vibrations flowing through me, the silent notes running through me. It's hard for me. I listen to my favorite songs and mouth the lyrics, but it's not the same. The song always ends too early or starts too late. Sometimes I have to blare the music until I can start to detect the simplest of octaves. And choir. I used to be in choir. Choir is one of those things that I miss the most. And then there's communication.

Reading lips may seem easy for those of you who can hear. I guess it is for some people. I, myself, am not very good at it. I grew up surrounded by sound, so it's harder. I have to be able to see the speaker very well, and even then, they must articulate. Sign language is fascinating, but I'm still trying to catch on. It hurts to not be able to understand. Even if I could hear like I used to, I still don't think I would be able to understand. It's hard to speak when you can't hear yourself. It's hard when you can't hear other people. Don't even get me started on reflex calls. I'll call people and just sit there for minutes waiting to hear their voice. The thing is, I don't think I'll ever be able to hear their voice. Not like I used to be able to, not ever again. Now, my biggest fear would probably be going blind, as well. I'm not a very strong person. I hate the stares that I get; I hate not being able to navigate like I used to. And, also, I'm majorly afraid of the dark.

I've always been afraid of the water, of the unknown, of the lurking, but becoming deaf has amplified that for me. Now, I'm also unable to hear what lurks. It feels like I'm constantly underwater, not quite able to hear clearly, just the mindless gurgles. I hate the look of pity that develops on people's faces when they realize I'm deaf. Don't even get me started on doorbells. I can't hear cars or songs or wildlife anymore. I can't hear silence, either. Sometimes, I'll just lay on the floor and put my hands on the speakers in my room and turn my music up as far as I will it to go. It's a good thing my neighbors don't mind. Sometimes I'll go to a club just for the heck of it. It's kind of nice, actually. The music is loud enough that I can feel it, and I can see the movement of other people. I've never been much of a dancer, so I prefer to sit in a corner and just... Feel. I try to feel as much as I can. I've never liked feeling numb. Even though it hurts emotionally at times, I still like to listen to music. I like to put on my headphones and fall asleep to the vibrations. People always mention that it's loud, or signal it, if they can. When my music is as high as it will go, I can just barely detect the beat. It's a bittersweet sort of happiness.