Something a little bit different for today’s blog.  A work of fiction, a metaphor for how living with Tinnitus and mental health may feel.  I hope it makes sense and resonates with you.

Trapped

I stare out through the raindrop-stained windowpane into the darkness beyond. It’s been raining now for, I cannot remember, but a very long time.  There seems no sign of it stopping.

Other people seem to be going about their business as normal as their faces hidden underneath brightly coloured umbrellas and I’m sure I can make out the tinkle of laughter.   I’m trapped in this small room.  I’m not a prisoner but I can’t seem to remember which key unlocks the heavy wooden door.  There is also an unpleasant noise, which makes it hard to sleep and concentrate on my escape.  Memories of happier times play on loop inside my mind.

Hope

I notice a figure dressed in grey clothing, slightly hunched moving slowly under a grey umbrella, momentarily our eyes lock, I’m not alone.

Finally, there seems a break in the clouds and the wooden door now appears slightly ajar.  With effort I squeeze through and step outside. I feel like a new born calf, testing out its legs for the first time.  I teeter and feel slightly giddy. The freshness of the air after the rain hits my nostrils and I breathe deep greedily.

The sun appears almost blinding in contrast to the dark room in which I have been living. Finally focused, I notice how vivid it makes the colours.  The green leaves of the surrounding trees appear different shades from dark green to fluorescent lime. I hear the whistle and trill of a blackbird on a roof above and then I spot it, bright yellow beak set against jet-black feathers as it flies into the hedgerow.

Finding my legs, I begin to walk, brushing my face past a water-laden branch, which drips onto my bare skin, it isn’t unpleasant, cooling against the heat of my face.

I find I can walk now and with each step I feel lighter.  I look around taking in the wonder of the world around me, helping to heal the memory of my captivity.