Welcome to The Buzz
A space for real stories, honest reflections, and small victories from life with tinnitus and hearing loss.
Here you’ll find comfort, perspective, and maybe even a laugh or two as we learn to live a little more peacefully with that damn noise.
The Not So Funny Side of Tinnitus
By Marie
Spoiler: I couldn’t even find the funny
Disclaimer:
I am, without question, the worst historian you’ll ever meet. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast, let alone confidently explain what happened in 1478 and why everyone was wearing tights. I freely admit my ignorance. Anyone with a GCSE, a degree, or even a casual interest in history will spot inaccuracies immediately.
Those of you fluent in Monty Python will no doubt mutter “that’s not how it happened” at your screen. You will be correct.
None of what follows should be taken seriously, medically, academically, spiritually, or otherwise. I wrote this purely for entertainment. And possibly mild emotional release.
Right. Let’s begin.
Ah yes... My twat-faced tinnitus.
Turns out, it’s been annoying humanity for quite some time.
Long before white noise machines, mindfulness apps, or well-meaning people telling you to “just ignore it”, tinnitus was already making itself thoroughly at home in human heads. Like an uninvited guest who arrives early, eats all the good snacks, and refuses to leave.
Ancient Egypt clocked it first. They were very good at clocking things. Pyramids, cats, afterlife admin. Somewhere along the line, someone said, “I keep hearing ringing,” and everyone else nodded gravely and decided it must be the gods.
The Greeks got involved. They wrapped tinnitus in mythology, philosophy, and probably olive oil. Aristotle likely had a theory. Hippocrates probably prescribed something involving leeches, goat’s milk, or fresh air. The Chinese wrote about it too, linking it to energy flow, balance, and the body’s internal politics.
All very poetic. All entirely useless if your head is going eeeeeeee at 3am.
Fast forward a bit.
Tinnitus, clearly missing the attention, refuses to take the hint and go do one.
Now imagine it’s 1478. Edward IV is on the throne. Everyone looks cold. Hygiene is optional. You mention, casually, to a friend that you hear sounds that no one else can hear.
➡ Big mistake ⬅
➡ By lunchtime, the whole village knows. ➡ By dinner, you’re suspicious. ➡ By Thursday, you’re a witch.
People are very uncomfortable with things they can’t see, hear, or fix. Especially in the Middle Ages, where the official response to unexplained phenomena was usually fire.
You try to explain it’s just a noise. A ringing. A buzzing. A sort of hiss. You mime it. This does not help your case. Someone gasps. Someone crosses themselves. Someone fetches a priest who definitely does not have tinnitus and therefore cannot relate. You are accused of consorting with demons. Or fairies. Or Satan himself, who apparently communicates exclusively via high-pitched internal whistling.
Could be worse, you think.
It will be worse, I say.
Because whilst you’re being labelled a witch in England, somewhere else things are escalating rapidly.
Hop over to another time, another place. Same tinnitus. Same noise. Different interpretation. You’re not a witch here. No no. You’re possessed. Or mad. Or morally weak. Possibly all three. You’re locked away “for your own good”. The ringing continues. Obviously. Tinnitus has never respected authority. Doctors poke you. Philosophers debate you. Religious leaders pray at you. None of it works. The noise carries on, smug as ever.
Centuries roll on. Humanity advances. Science improves. We invent things. Important things. Trains. Telegraphs. Eventually, headphones, which feels like a personal attack in hindsight.
By the Victorian era, tinnitus is still not having a great PR moment. You’re not a witch anymore or working for the devil, which is progress, but you are “delicate”. Or “hysterical”. Or “overly sensitive”. Especially if you’re a woman. Especially if you complain.
Men are told to toughen up. Women are told it’s their nerves. Everyone is told not to fuss. Some are sent to seaside retreats. Some are bled. Some are prescribed rest, which is extremely difficult when your skull is doing its own impression of a kettle.
Then comes the modern age. At last, science steps in properly. We get words. Diagnoses. Audiologists. Pamphlets. Progress!
Except now the main advice is:
“You’ll get used to it.”
Which is just history’s way of saying, “Good luck with that.”
And here we are. Today. In an era of MRI scanners, smart watches, and fridges that can tell you you’re out of milk, we still don’t fully understand why tinnitus does what it does.
We know more, yes. We believe people now, mostly. We don’t burn them or lock them away. That’s a win. But tinnitus itself hasn’t changed. It’s still the same ancient nuisance. The same invisible, unshareable experience.
The same thing that makes you feel dramatic for mentioning it and lonely for not mentioning it.
So… Have We Learnt Anything?
History shows us that tinnitus has always made people uncomfortable. Not because of the sound itself, but because of what it represents: something invisible, personal, and impossible to share. We no longer accuse people of witchcraft or madness. Progress. But we still tell them to ignore it, downplay it, or be grateful it’s “not worse”. The language has softened. The misunderstanding hasn’t entirely disappeared.
What history asks of us now is simple.
➡ Believe people.
➡ Stop minimising.
And recognise that just because something can’t be heard by others doesn’t mean it isn’t loud.
So when someone says, “At least it’s not life-threatening,” remember that once upon a time, it very nearly was.
And that is not because of the noise itself.
It’s because of how people responded to it.
And thinking about it, that might be the least funny part of all.
Take care
Marie
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