My life is a series of submersions into noise. It all creeps into the psyche and take up space in my relatively un-crowded gray matter. The noises register there like squatters—alarms for work, alarms at work, the sound of my child breathing, the cat’s impossible half cry, the washing machine, the balloon stuck to the heating duct—all of them attached to some innocuous memory or feeling that never seem to elevate the heart rate or cause a sense of fear. But the noise of too many humans crammed together in a small space serves to derail every nerve ending in my body. It causes all synapses to go into high gear and the world around me becomes amplified. It causes me to become hypersensitive to every noise being created; it causes me to hear them at once. It is sonic chaos.
I do my best to keep my cool and look professional when all I want to do is float to the ceiling to get away from them to save me from trying to steal their voices with my bare hands. Gradually I go from hearing everything to hearing nothing in a state of lucid cataplexy. I see people talking, machines working, movement for which I know is accompanied by sounds, but I can’t register any of them. It is a struggle to recover the rest of my senses, a struggle to get them to convince the ears to work again.
I stepped into the evening air. It is cold and suddenly there is a silence I can hear. I feel every lost thought to drip from a brain. I am maddened to the point of reality. I am unsure how it will all continue.