hypervigilance

Superhearing

~ Jessi Kallison ~ Leave a comment

I can hear you chew like you’re crushing gravel in my ears. The dog licks herself like she’s clicking and slurping in surround sound for me. The omnipresent beep of scanners at the grocery store vibrates in my teeth.

You might have guessed–today’s post is about hypervigilance and its offspring–misophonia. After a violent attack, or any sort of life-threatening trauma, your body’s alarm system gets a bit broken. It goes off all of the time for no good reason.

And mine goes off when evening approaches. I was attacked at night, so sounds crescendo before the sun even sets. And I’m on edge, like I’m trapped in a closet in a slasher flick, and the killer is just on the other side of the door.

I used to hide in my closet a lot because the world was too loud. And I couldn’t handle normal dinner time sounds with my kids. No one did anything wrong. I just couldn’t coexist with the noise.

Here are a few things that helped: noise cancelling headphones (though I haven’t found a pair that I can’t hear through), ear plugs, learning not to put myself in crowds for long.

Caveats: I communicate clearly about my noise intolerance so that my family know why I am hidden away. And I should warn you that people sometimes think you’re a rude teenager who won’t take their headphones off, if you walk around in public with the headphones on. People also assume you can’t hear them, even if the headphones are only making the roar around you bearable.

I have looked into earplugs designed to only reduce certain frequencies like Calmer. I haven’t tried it yet though, so if you have insight into that product, I’d love to hear about it.

Poetry: Hyperacusis

~ Jessi Kallison ~ 4 Comments

I used to watch all of Marvel’s movies. They were a shut-up-and-take-my-money situation. And you could bet that I would read or watch most things involving super powers, mutations, or human evolution. I found it fascinating. I remember one show that depicted super hearing as part-super power, part-curse.

And I can confirm the part-curse bit. Since the break-in and attack last year, I can’t turn the world down. My therapists say it’s a PTSD symptom: hypervigilance, hyperacusis. And sometimes it’s hell. I don’t watch those movies anymore without my kids pleading to watch together, noise cancelling headphones, a drink in my hand, and subtitles. My kids pre-open their candy so that the plastic doesn’t crinkle next to me. We’ve all changed our lives in little ways to co-exist. I wear the headphones and run four miles a day, sometimes sequestering myself when the day has been a bit too loud. They tone it down when I cringe at something like cabinets closing in the kitchen. Today’s poem details living with this super-curse.

Hyperacusis

I think someone is hitting our counter.

And I ask you to check downstairs.

And I’m so sure I’m right.

I argue until you show me…

that the sound only happens when the dog breathes out.

 

YouTubers blaring that we should “smash that button”

make me want to smash my eardrums.

I can’t think around it.

 

I flinch when you hammer a stud into place.

And I’m back against a door with it splintering around me,

buying my family more time.

 

So, you find me now before you hammer, drill, nail, sew,

decibel warnings far below the prescribed level litter our days.

You hand me noise cancelling headphones

like a life ring for the drowning.

 

And I hold on.

 

I ask you each time, “Will it ever get better?”

And you always say yes.

I don’t care if it’s truth or a lie

or only what you believe.

It’s enough.