How did you realize that you have synesthesia? (4 Unique answers)
<EditorsNote> I’m on a mission to further the conversation for people who are late diagnosed with Synesthesia. Thus, I’m asking a lot of questions … here are three different people and their answers… </EditorsNote>
@ZoeFinch: A person with synesthesia is called a synesthete.
For me, I have grapheme-color synesthesia so when I see a letter, number, word, name etc. my mind associates a color to it.
It's like, every time I look at letters, numbers, words, you name it, my brain just goes ahead and paints them with colors in my mind's eye.
Picture someone asking you to think of a pumpkin—you know it's not really there, but you can still kinda 'see' it, right? That's what happens to me with letters, except they flash up in specific colors. Most of the time, it's super subtle, just doing its thing in the back of my mind. But with certain letters, the colors just pop and are way more noticeable.
@AvaHarper: So there I was, about 7-ish, goofing around with my sisters, K & E, when out of the blue, I blurt out, "Obviously, 'T' is green." They gave me this look like I'd grown a second head.
K jumps in with, "Um, nope. It's totally purple." And there we were, in the midst of this mini squabble, until we roped E into settling the debate for us: Is 'T' green or purple??
E just squints at this 'T' we'd scribbled on paper and goes, "Depends on the crayon, doesn't it?" But we're like, nope, try again. We're talking about the 'T's true color, beyond the crayon. She gave it another long look, then shrugged, admitting she couldn't see any color at all.
Mind. Blown. How could she not see any color? I mean, a different color, sure, that's odd enough. But no color at all? Letters are bursting with color! They're letters, for crying out loud!
It took a bunch of years and a bit of growing up before I stumbled upon the whole synesthesia thing.
Here's the deal with me:
Letters and numbers? They've got their own built-in color scheme.
Sounds transform into these wild, textured ribbons and bursts of light.
Numbers aren't just numbers; they've got genders and personalities, like characters in a book.
My thoughts are this vivid, 3D kaleidoscope, more visual spectacle than words, unless I'm gearing up to say something specific.
And honestly, the idea of not having these vivid layers to everything? Totally alien to me. It's not "extra" stuff; it's just how things are. Total madness!
Oh, and get this: I had a friend whose synesthesia gave FLAVORS actual SHAPES. How wild is that?
@Miachase: So, when I was 12, I casually dropped in a chat with my school buddies that this one song was a no-go for me because of its appearance. Yep, you read that right.
And boy, did they give me the double-take, as if I'd just sprouted a couple of new heads or something. I mean, to this day, the idea that some folks just listen to music without any visual fireworks is beyond me. How do you even remember a tune without its color show?
For the longest time, I knew my mom's side of the family, especially us ladies, were a quirky bunch. We've got this whole sensory mix-up where time, numbers, and letters come with their own color schemes. But music? That's my unique twist. Mentioning any of this usually gets people either scratching their heads or totally intrigued.
Then, this one time, my aunt stumbled upon this ad from our local university. They were on the hunt for synesthetes for some research gig. It was like a lightbulb moment for her, and she was quick to dial them up. Mentioning that she's got a whole crew of us with these cross-wired senses? Well, let's just say they were pretty eager to have us join the fun. We ended up being their guinea pigs for all sorts of tests. Not sure what their takeaways were, but hey, it was a blast being part of it!
@LiamAnderson: I've always had this unique connection between taste, smell, and color, a kind of secret dance of the senses I kept under wraps, especially around my mom who preferred everything and everyone to fit neatly into the box of "normal."
It wasn't until recently, during a conversation about synesthesia, that I realized I had another layer to it. My writing, often draped in poetic metaphors, draws from this vivid palette where scents are yellow, tastes are green, and these experiences breathe life into my words, giving them color. It's not that words themselves trigger colors for me; it's the memories they evoke that are rich with synesthesia.
What really took me by surprise was discovering that feeling the physical pain of others, a phenomenon I've always experienced, is actually a type of synesthesia known as Mirror-Pain Synesthesia. It's probably what nudged me towards embracing pacifism so wholeheartedly. Imagine a world where every hurt you cause someone else, you feel just as acutely. That empathy, that shared pain, it can wear on you, becoming almost unbearable once it's awakened.
For the longest time, I didn't even realize this shared pain was a form of synesthesia. It was just another part of me I kept quiet about, another deviation from the "normal" my mother so desperately clung to. Talking about my synesthesia, stepping beyond the veil of metaphor I usually hide behind, is something I find incredibly hard. In fact, this might be the first time I'm openly discussing it outside of private conversations.
Words:
Words, you see, they're not just sounds or letters. They carry tastes – insults sting like vinegar, sarcasm bites like salt, while words of affection are as sweet as chocolate, sometimes with the surprise of a cherry.
Words also touch – some can slap you across the face, punch you, leave a cut, while others caress you softly, like a lover's gentle embrace.
And colors – words are painted with them. Anger flashes red, calmness spreads in soothing blues. There are reds that wound and reds that warm, blues that chill to the bone and blues that comfort. Purple, though, remains unmarred by pain, perhaps the true essence of 'purple prose.'
Words are so much more than what we hear or how loudly they're spoken. They dance with grace, drift gently on the air, yet they can also pelt down like hail or cut deep as a knife.
We often downplay the power of words, maybe because facing their true impact is much harder than simply dismissing them.
