Recompression Trauma

I’ve just come down from the Isle of Skye…

“Come down” is truly apt. That tired, slightly depressed and pessimistic state that chases the heels of an ecstatic state – be that from illegal substances or simply adrenaline – I’m sure most people will have experienced this feeling at one time or another.

I’m feeling it now.

Not the happiest of inaugural posts, I know, but by way of an introduction it has my measure.

Don’t be mistaken, it’s not that I hate the city or the people in it, it’s just that there are so many of them in such a dense concentration. Coming back is like the opposite of the bends: a sickness caused by a sudden rise in pressure.

As I sit here benefitting from barista-forged coffee and wifi internet, I search for the gaps and find none. The constant chatter of other people’s conversations, mixing to become indistinguishable. The tinnitus and low hum of electrical lights, screens, equipment. I can’t even hear the continual rumble of traffic outside.

Which focusses things to a finer point – even if I was outdoors, the sky is hemmed in by towering slabs of buildings, the whisper of the breeze is drowned under the flood of city noise.

My lovely lady put it best, summed it all up in one line when she observed that no matter where you stand in the city, you’re never on “real ground”. We miss the Earth beneath our feet and the boundless Sky in our lungs.

It’s okay, dear reader, this feeling will pass. We have much to do. You join this tale in interesting times.

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