When we talk with visual thinkers, they are often surprised, even skeptical, and some of them look at us with a faint glimmer of pity, as if we were to be pitied, as if we had a major disability, as if we were missing the point.
Cake? Was ist das?
First of all, as I’ve already pointed out, someone with aphantasia has no idea—no way of imagining—what most people see, or even the very concept of a mental image. So there’s no need to feel sorry for us. Imagine you’ve never eaten a pastry and then, all of a sudden, someone shows up:
“What? No way, you’ve never had any? How do you even eat, how do you survive? For me, life without pastries would be awful—I can’t even imagine a life without cakes and cookies!”
OK, but you, who’ve never eaten any, who can’t even wrap your head around the idea of a chocolate cake or a rum baba—well, you couldn’t care less; you don’t miss it, especially since, unlike with pastries, you’ll probably never have access to those mental images.
Now, if I go back to the previous chapters, it’s true that sometimes you having trouble remembering certain people, but, at the same time, you also effortlessly rid yourself of memories of annoying people, nuisances, and pain-in-the-backs-of-the-neck. As for memories of loved ones, it might seem a shame not to be able to recall them at will, but the fact that their image never crosses your mind allows you to move on faster than others—during a period of mourning, for example. Not to mention that if you didn’t like that loved one, you can forget them very easily. And if you cherished them, you still have the photos to remind you of their features. Plus everything else, of course.
Trauma? Uh...
I want to emphasize this point because I sometimes come across as a bit insensitive. When someone I love passes away, it affects me just as much as anyone else, and the more I loved them, the more it affects me. But I’ve noticed that it doesn’t last as long for me as it does for other people. And I now understand, after discussing it with those around me, that many people mentally replay images of the person in a way that is both very detailed and completely involuntary. As a result, everything comes flooding back: the sadness, the sense of loss, the loneliness, and the regrets they feel in the face of this loss. I had no idea about this, as I’ve never been flooded with these kinds of images; my mind doesn’t impose these painful memories on me out of the blue while I’m doing something else entirely. I need an external trigger—a piece of clothing, a letter, a photo found by chance—in short, I can be caught off guard, but not by a mental image that imposes itself on me and haunts me. So I find it easier than others to work through my grief.
I haven’t experienced any major traumas in my life, but while on tour, we were once stopped at a spot where an accident had just occurred. A head-on collision between two vehicles on a local road had killed two people and likely also, later on, the driver of the oncoming car. Emergency responders were on their way but hadn’t arrived yet. I remember very clearly that we stayed in the bus for five to ten minutes, about fifty meters from the two deceased people. Their car had veered off the road and was facing us. We could clearly see the two white oval shapes of their faces, without really being able to make out their features. But still, we knew we had two dead people in front of us, and it left a mark on all of us—me as much as the others. Proof of this is that, twenty-five or thirty years later, I’m still able to remember it and tell you about it. But I’ve never really seen that image again; I’m unable to see it again, and it can’t suddenly pop into my head. Even though I’ve thought about it sometimes, the fact that I haven’t revisited the situation has quickly faded the memory I had of it. In short, my memories, even unpleasant ones, can’t haunt me as vividly as they do someone who mentally replays them.
For readings To some, the lack of a mental image of what one is reading seems like a pain aux raisins without the grapes. But it also allows you to read a book whose film adaptation you’ve already seen without letting the images from the movie impose themselves on you. As I explained, it develops other areas of the imagination that the images might have hindered in others, because they didn’t have to engage them. Like a pain aux raisins with raspberries, basically…
Innervision is personal
Regarding the dreams, of course, sometimes I wish I could remember—especially when things seemed fun—but I wouldn’t trade the peace of mind I feel when I go to bed for images that might haunt me and ruin my sleep and the next day. Or even make me dread bedtime.
Thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons I wouldn't trade my barrel of diaphantasia for two barrels of hyperphantasia (old vane). I love my life, my perception and my "reality" as they are. They built me and I like myself, without excess or forfantry, just I like myself and I never get bored. So why regret, envy, want to change?
And isn’t the real question, after al, regardless of the sense involved, its presence or absence, and all the different combination: aren’t we missing out on something by being unable to experience the way others perceive the world? I wonder if there are people capable of turning on or off any of their “mental senses” at will? That would be awesome!
P.S. I do have one regret, though—but I’ll talk about that in my next post…
