A Way to Describe My Visualizations

I thought of a way to sort of describe my visualizations (or lack of).

It might be like if you put your phone on the darkest setting; then imagine looking at a picture of something in a not-well-lit room.  AND...you see the image for only about 1/10 of a second.

So...if someone tells me to picture a certain person and I can manage to remember what they look like (because sometimes I can't) this is what it will be like for me.  A very quick dark flash. I can't sustain it enough to notice details.  

When I have random (unchosen) memories of an image...it might linger for a bit longer. Or...well...it's stronger in some way.  I'm not sure how to describe it.  

One night, some decades ago, I "fearlessly" looked at a photo of Zelda from Pet Sematary and then I was haunted by the image most of the night. It was a long time ago, and I can't remember how vivid the image was. But it was strong enough to torment me.  

I don't think my aphantasia is about not being able to visualize. I think it's about my CONSCIOUS brain not being able to do it.  My subconscious seems quite adept at doing it....especially when it's in full control (as in I'm asleep, dreaming).

So...back to my conscious abilities (or lack of). 

In February, we stayed with my parents. They asked which of the guest rooms we had chosen. I couldn't answer them at first, and they found this funny.  For me, I was thinking that they had expected me to notice and care about the room decor and therefore remember it.  But for them, they might have been expecting me to pull up the image whether I had consciously took note of it or not. 

If I remember correctly, they asked me about the colors in the room.  I had no earthly idea.

I was able to eventually tell them that the room faced the backyard. It's not that I could bring up a great, clear image of the backyard.  But I had noticed it, and I did remember that.  

I can't picture the room right now...except in a super dark, vague, way.  But I can answer some questions about the room, not really from visual memory but from knowledge memory.  I know there's a king size bed. I know that there's a large picture of my sister on the bedside table.  I know the carpet is a yellowish color....because I expected it to do well at hiding cat vomit. 

I know the bed has a ton of pillows.

I know there's a small round table, because I left my little plant on it and then forgot to take it with us when we left. (though we finally remembered to get it, and it's hanging out with new buddies in the town house).  

Thankfully I can also use photographs to
help me remember what a room looks like.

All of this aphantasia stuff is making me think that when we say things about putting ourselves in other people's shoes, we really don't put a lot of effort into it.  Because if we did, the concept of aphantasia wouldn't be so shocking to so many of us.  We would have already wondered about and questioned other people's experiences.  Instead so many of us assume that other people are experiencing what we experience.  

It can also be applied to pain. We tend to assume if someone makes a bigger fuss about their physical ailments than other people with the same ailments that these bigger complainers are less courageous, less stoic, etc.  But it could be that they actually feel things differently than us.   

Well, and it can go the other way as well. Some people might feel LESS pain than what is typical for their ailment. So we might assume they're in less dire need of medical attention.  And this could be very dangerous.  

 

Read my novel: The Dead are Online