Step into the room, not much bigger than a bedroom, where sound-deadening foam blocks protrude at every angle like stalagmites in a cave—or worse, spikes in a medieval torture chamber. Turn off the lights and close the heavy door behind you. The blackness is overwhelming, but it's often the least disorienting thing. For some, the silence can be even more terrifying.
For most of us, our days are full of sounds: birds chirping, children chattering, cars honking, machines clanging and banging. Even in the middle of the night, when we may think the world is "silent," there's the ticking of a clock or the gentle humming of a humidifier.
Without the ambient noise that fills everyday life, the stillness inside the chamber can feel unsettling. Some humans, it turns out, can't stand silence. Some people can hear the blood rushing through their ears, the bones in their fingers cracking as they move, the lub-dub, lub-dub of their heart pumping. |
Step into the room, not much bigger than a bedroom, where sound-deadening foam blocks protrude at every angle like stalagmites in a cave—or worse, spikes in a medieval torture chamber. Turn off the lights and close the heavy door behind you. The blackness is overwhelming, but it's often the least disorienting thing. For some, the silence can be even more terrifying.
For most of us, our days are full of sounds: birds chirping, children chattering, cars honking, machines clanging and banging. Even in the middle of the night, when we may think the world is "silent," there's the ticking of a clock or the gentle humming of a humidifier.
Without the ambient noise that fills everyday life, the stillness inside the chamber can feel unsettling. Some humans, it turns out, can't stand silence. Some people can hear the blood rushing through their ears, the bones in their fingers cracking as they move, the lub-dub, lub-dub of their heart pumping. |
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