There’s a noise that’s followed me for over thirty years.
High-pitched. Relentless.
Never fades. Never gives me a moment’s peace.
It started in the Army, in tanks. You don’t need to imagine the noise; you feel it through your chest, through your skull, through every bit of metal in the hull. Engines growling, comms headsets screaming, the crack of 120mm and 76mm canons, 30mm bursts, and the GPMG rattling above your head. That’s the soundtrack you live with. Back then, no one wore proper protection. You had a headset so you could hear orders, not to save your hearing.
And when you’re young, you don’t think about it. You laugh it off. The ringing after a day of exercise was just part of the job. But the thing is, for some of us, it never went away.
When Silence Doesn’t Exist
It’s there the second I wake, and it’s still there when I try to sleep.
A constant high-frequency whine that drills through the quiet.
People talk about tinnitus like it’s just a bit of ringing. It’s not. It’s an invisible injury that grinds you down day after day. It wrecks your sleep, eats your focus, and leaves your brain permanently on edge. I haven’t heard silence since the early nineties.
I’ve tried the usual — painkillers, muscle relaxants, sound therapy, and mindfulness. I’m on mirtazapine now to help with sleep and mental health because constant exhaustion takes its toll. The truth? Painkillers don’t touch tinnitus. They just numb the frustration a little, and when they wear off, the noise is still there.
Service, Injury, and the Matrix
Today, 11 November, Remembrance Day — I had my appointment with the ENT surgeon at 11:15. He was instructed by the solicitors handling my MOD Matrix hearing loss claim. Poetic timing, really: the nation remembering its fallen, and me on a call about the long-term damage that never left.
He asked what guns I’d been exposed to, whether the tinnitus was in both ears, and how long I’d had it. I told him the truth: tank engines, canons, machine guns, comms headsets, thirty-plus years of non-stop ringing. He said he’d submit his report to the solicitors so they can do their thing. Five minutes. Job done.
That’s how it goes. You spend years living with the consequences, and it all comes down to one short assessment and a few boxes on a Matrix chart.
Still, it’s the system we’ve got. The Matrix scheme categorises hearing loss and tinnitus into bands. The more severe and permanent it is, the higher the compensation. For anyone reading this who served — if your ears ring, even slightly, get it checked. You might think it’s just part of the job, but thirty years later, it’s no joke.
The Hidden Cost
You can patch up a broken bone. You can rehab a bad knee. But tinnitus? There’s no cure. It’s not something you treat; it’s something you learn to survive.
People see the medals and the parades, but they don’t see the vets lying awake at 3 am with their ears screaming. They don’t see the way exhaustion messes with your head, or how that constant noise chips away at your peace.
For me, mindfulness, breathwork, and cold water have become coping tools. Not to silence it — that’s impossible — but to make it fade into the background for a bit. To remind myself that the sound doesn’t control me.
Why I’m Sharing This
Because there are thousands of us walking around with the same noise.
Because a bit of awareness goes further than any painkiller ever will.
And because on a day like today — 11/11 — it feels right to talk about the price that doesn’t make the news.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve got that ringing, that hiss, that hum that never stops — get it checked. Log it. Claim it. Don’t shrug it off like I did. Silence is priceless, and once it’s gone, you’ll do anything to get it back.
Written by Ian Callaghan – Veteran, Coach, and Creator of Sober Beyond Limits
If you’re a veteran dealing with tinnitus or mental health struggles, reach out. You’re not broken, you’re just carrying the echoes of what you survived.
