It has been eight torturous, tedious weeks and there has been no let up in this insufferable noise. Hugs to help or harmonise just make it worse, way worse, I don’t need hugs, being that close to someone stings, no one knows how I feel, how can they? Constant commotion makes my ears ache. I hold my hands over them to drown out the sounds; my loved ones do not understand, and tell me leave my ears alone. My head hurts, I am dizzy, my eyes close but I cannot sleep. The screaming, how can I explain to them so they can comprehend the pain? They just look at me with pity, but no offers or answers to fix this. Am I broken even? How long will this last? The doctors mentioned colic, but it is not that, I know this is more than colic but it is all I hear everyone say to me, colic colic colic, it will sort itself out. Just when I do manage to drift off into a hazy noiseless dream, my only refuge from the bellowing blare of daily disquietude, the need to feed takes over and I am awake, agony.
As morning approaches, birds start singing sweet melodies but automobiles rattle pass, and drown out their songs, it begins again. The beautiful smell of morning fills the air, coffee wafts, which means the kettle has been whistling, fresh bread encourages the oven timer to toll but as the breakfast table tumult increases I break down. Again! Morning is firmly here. As I sit amongst the newly bought build a bears and singing soft toys and look out the bay window of the second floor, I do not just weep, I wail, shout, as I cannot express my pain in any other way. My family rush in but that is all they do. I do not understand what they are trying to say to me, in fact, I am not listening, their words just hurt me. I have dark thoughts, evil thoughts but I do want to be here, just under different circumstances. Being a lone parent is very hard, and people understand what stress is involved, so would someone judge me if I left. At least it would be quiet.
Morning, noon and night, I cannot take it anymore. It is week nine and I am sick, beyond tired and what is more, nobody seems to be able to care or understand. They pass it off as a post natal fad that will ware off with time. I, myself have wondered if indeed it is just something I will get used to but as the slow-paced pandemonium of the day-time melts into the shush that echoes the halls and rooms at night when the darkness is meant to be roughly translated as silence, I cannot see it ending. Maybe I feel too sorry for myself and am not being so sympathetic of the people around me who, I know are worried for me and the welfare of me and my new family but I cannot concentrate on that when, with each atom of sound, I crumble into a ball and try to deflect these decibels somewhere else. It doesn’t work. What will I do, please help me, this noise is too much, how can I explain that each morsel of sound, high pitched or silently humming or ticking is shrinking and shrivelling my senses. After all, how could they know that I, a baby, could be allergic to sound?
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