Before the Devil Knows You’re Deaf

As this is only 2015 and Marvel don’t currently provide the script for real life, being deaf doesn’t give me superpowers. My vision’s pretty average. I’m not a ninja, or psychic, or telekinetic. Hell, I’m not even particularly empathetic.

Shocking, right? Pop culture’s been lying to you again. Being deaf doesn’t make me special. While we’re at it, it doesn’t make me brave or inspirational either. Brace yourselves: IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE ME NICE.

My hearing loss is degenerative. Every morning, I am faced with the sobering knowledge that this is the youngest my face will ever look again, the highest my tits will achieve without surgery, and the most I will ever hear. I was never too precious about my face, but tittygeddon and my world going quiet are both fucking terrifying.

I wake up before my alarm clock goes off every morning because I’m so scared of sleeping through it. I can’t hear my watch ticking any more, or rain on my bedroom window. When I realised I could no longer make out the X-Files theme tune, I cried. Something beautiful is being chipped away from me, day by day, and the grief can be overwhelming.

So if there’s any way I can use deafness to my advantage, you can bet your ass I’m going to do it.

First off, occasionally strangers will get so frustrated with me that they end up uttering something along the lines of “Are you fucking deaf or something?” I live for moments like these. I drop my eyes, take a deep breath, then use my brave-little-deaf-girl voice to answer in the affirmative. I get the best results if I look slightly defiant, but with a chin quiver that suggests I might break down at any moment. Their faces are, invariably, priceless.

I pulled a version of this in Audiology when I had my last hearing aids fitted. One of the technicians asked me what line of work I was in, and I told them I was a live music journalist. The poor guy stammered and blushed his way through the rest of the appointment, and ended up apologising for the state of my hearing like he’d personally jammed knitting needles in my ears.

He hadn’t even upset me. I just hate the Audiology department because it’s full of old people and it smells of wee.

Back when I was far less law-abiding, I even used being deaf to jump trains. I kept my hearing aids out until I spotted an inspector. I’d wait for them to approach me, then affect panic and start laboriously faffing with the aids, making sure I covered them with my hands a lot so they screeched with feedback. Nine times out of ten the inspector would scuttle straight past me as if they’d spotted an Indiana Jones MacGuffin at the other end of the carriage.

I have worse examples, but those are fairly representative. Emotional blackmail, unwarranted sympathy and outright financial gain. I use my hearing loss as a Get Out of Jail Free card. Sometimes literally.

Disabled people are not one-dimensional angels. I may be deaf, but I’m also a dick.