I wake up in the morning to the feeling of my alarm, shaking and vibrating my bed. I hear the low rumbling as I stagger from my bed to my alarm clock as I hit the snooze button. I'll probably hit it twice. I crawl back in bed in the eerie green glow from my alarm clock. Light highlights the cracks of my bedroom door. I know Mum and Dad are awake.
When I finally emerge from my room and bathroom, to our main family room, the room is bright; brighter than my almost pitch black bedroom. The constant noise of Mum and Dad's bathroom fan annoys me as I walk out of my room. It helps with their tinnitus, but it only annoys mine. My tinnitus isn't high; it sounds like someone shoved my head into a machine room where someone tossed a ton of rocks into the machines. When my ears ring I can almost feel them vibrating, like there's more sound coming from my head than there is going into my head. There is very little that can touch how low the humming is. Thankfully, I don't generally mind it. I don't even know how much I hear it, since it seems to be the backdrop of my world.
I'm greeted by my Mum and Dad with a cheerful good morning. I wander into the kitchen to use our keurig, and I listen to the sounds of the machine sputtering and spitting. The world sounds noisy to me, but apparently I'm missing quite a bit. Though, the spluttering sounds from the coffee maker and the whining, almost static of the bathroom fan don't really leave me with a desire to hear more. More noise just sounds annoying.
Throughout the day, I hear things dropped or moved. Dad talks to me. I crank my music up loud so I can enjoy it. If I can't figure out where a sound is coming from, the cat probably knows, and if she's ok with it then it's probably nothing to worry about. Only occasionally do I have to ask Mum and Dad to repeat themselves, though this is occurring more often, and I struggle to hear anything outside of the room I'm in. But if you just met me and saw me in my home, you'd think I was normal.
But put me in a crowd or a group and everything changes. My eyes flit from face to face. I tilt my head to understand and hear better, and across my face spreads a half understanding smile. I can feel the pressure in my chest rising, as I beat down my frustration at being pushed out of a conversation by other people. Their words jumble off their lips like marbles, as I switch from looking at one face and mouth to the next. I catch a sentence here and there. Words flutter past, some clearer than others. The more people, the more I can't understand. And the further away they are, or the louder the crowd, or the more people in the group, the more they just blend into the backdrop of static and murmuring. I look away and I understand nothing. It's amazing how much my eyes play into how much I understand of what is said. And I feel alone in a crowd, often times of people I love.
But then I go to a Deaf event. I see hands flying. Facial expressions clarify the meanings of what is said. I don't have to struggle to hear what is said; I see it. If I ask for clarification, no one rolls their eyes or tells me to ask later. I have equal access to what is said, same as everyone else. And I watch as the hands of the signer across me flies in front of them, creating concepts and ideas and building pictures within the space in front of them as they tell stories, or relate their histories, or share their dreams for the future. My hands fly too, as I relate my stories, or my history, or my dreams, or whatever we are talking about at that instance. And all around me are people who understand what it's like to be left out, and willingly include me.
And I am caught in a place where I feel like I am neither Deaf, nor hearing, but am both. My day to day life I live in the hearing world with a hearing family. I am expected to act and speak in the norms of the society around me. But then, in those few precious hours when I am with the Deaf, I am free to act as Deaf. I am free to be Deaf and not play the role of being hearing. And I know then that I am Deaf. But when I leave, I am only hard of hearing, or hearing impaired, or at most, half Deaf; I'm expected to function as hearing as I possibly can. And I'm stuck in two worlds, two cultures, and it is a life that is very different from anything I ever dreamed I would have. And some days it is hard, and other days it is easier. But I never stop feeling this strain of being expected to be two things at once.
When I finally emerge from my room and bathroom, to our main family room, the room is bright; brighter than my almost pitch black bedroom. The constant noise of Mum and Dad's bathroom fan annoys me as I walk out of my room. It helps with their tinnitus, but it only annoys mine. My tinnitus isn't high; it sounds like someone shoved my head into a machine room where someone tossed a ton of rocks into the machines. When my ears ring I can almost feel them vibrating, like there's more sound coming from my head than there is going into my head. There is very little that can touch how low the humming is. Thankfully, I don't generally mind it. I don't even know how much I hear it, since it seems to be the backdrop of my world.
I'm greeted by my Mum and Dad with a cheerful good morning. I wander into the kitchen to use our keurig, and I listen to the sounds of the machine sputtering and spitting. The world sounds noisy to me, but apparently I'm missing quite a bit. Though, the spluttering sounds from the coffee maker and the whining, almost static of the bathroom fan don't really leave me with a desire to hear more. More noise just sounds annoying.
Throughout the day, I hear things dropped or moved. Dad talks to me. I crank my music up loud so I can enjoy it. If I can't figure out where a sound is coming from, the cat probably knows, and if she's ok with it then it's probably nothing to worry about. Only occasionally do I have to ask Mum and Dad to repeat themselves, though this is occurring more often, and I struggle to hear anything outside of the room I'm in. But if you just met me and saw me in my home, you'd think I was normal.
But put me in a crowd or a group and everything changes. My eyes flit from face to face. I tilt my head to understand and hear better, and across my face spreads a half understanding smile. I can feel the pressure in my chest rising, as I beat down my frustration at being pushed out of a conversation by other people. Their words jumble off their lips like marbles, as I switch from looking at one face and mouth to the next. I catch a sentence here and there. Words flutter past, some clearer than others. The more people, the more I can't understand. And the further away they are, or the louder the crowd, or the more people in the group, the more they just blend into the backdrop of static and murmuring. I look away and I understand nothing. It's amazing how much my eyes play into how much I understand of what is said. And I feel alone in a crowd, often times of people I love.
But then I go to a Deaf event. I see hands flying. Facial expressions clarify the meanings of what is said. I don't have to struggle to hear what is said; I see it. If I ask for clarification, no one rolls their eyes or tells me to ask later. I have equal access to what is said, same as everyone else. And I watch as the hands of the signer across me flies in front of them, creating concepts and ideas and building pictures within the space in front of them as they tell stories, or relate their histories, or share their dreams for the future. My hands fly too, as I relate my stories, or my history, or my dreams, or whatever we are talking about at that instance. And all around me are people who understand what it's like to be left out, and willingly include me.
And I am caught in a place where I feel like I am neither Deaf, nor hearing, but am both. My day to day life I live in the hearing world with a hearing family. I am expected to act and speak in the norms of the society around me. But then, in those few precious hours when I am with the Deaf, I am free to act as Deaf. I am free to be Deaf and not play the role of being hearing. And I know then that I am Deaf. But when I leave, I am only hard of hearing, or hearing impaired, or at most, half Deaf; I'm expected to function as hearing as I possibly can. And I'm stuck in two worlds, two cultures, and it is a life that is very different from anything I ever dreamed I would have. And some days it is hard, and other days it is easier. But I never stop feeling this strain of being expected to be two things at once.
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