An Outsider Inside Myself

i can’t remember my own life. a cue or prompt from someone or something will immediately make the memories rush in like a flood to fill my mind. but without that, the events of my life feel ephemeral.

outsider

recalling memories captured in photos or videos is easy, but my experience seems bound to the media itself. if i had been the one holding the camera, i can feel myself there, reliving the moment through that same point of view.

however, when i see myself from a third-person perspective, i become the outsider looking in — as if watching a film of someone else’s life, only that someone is me. the camera’s perspective overwrites my own, embedding itself more strongly than my actual memory.

the events of my past feel detached, as though they belong to another person entirely. i can piece them together in sequence with information such as the places i’ve lived or the schools i’ve attended, but the actual experience of those times is lost to me. they’re stored as mere facts, stripped of the feeling that they’re the things i’ve lived through.

memories

one of my most dreaded questions is “tell me the one time […] happened”, because i will most certainly not remember. at some point, i stopped trying to hold someone accountable, since i know i won’t remember the last time it happened, and keeping notes each time would feel petty.

self-assessments and reflections are nearly impossible without a prompt, which makes “selling myself” in interviews or performance reviews a nightmare. what unsettles me most isn’t being perceived as unaware, but the possibility that i might not have a sense of achievement altogether — that i don’t even register these supposed achievements as meaningful when they happen.

this applies to other things too, such as music or faces. give me a clip of a song or a photo of a person, and the memories rush back all at once. without such cues, my mind goes blank. even names vanish right after i hear them — literally an “in one ear and out the other” situation. the only exceptions are those i’ve written down myself; once i record their full name in my contacts, it’s now linked with the face in my mind.

visualization

recalling spatial memories is a non-issue. i have no trouble remembering the places i’ve been to, and the layout of those places clearly in mind. i can map out the whole area and recall where i parked in a mall. in familiar spaces, i can “walk” through them mentally, retracing my steps and visualizing the surrounding details as i go.

discovering the mind palace technique felt like i had my third eye opened. i can construct an infinite mental space and figuratively “place” memories in specific locations to help recall them later. it’s not quite at the level of photographic-memory, but it makes remembering things way easier.

relationship

when i’m left alone, my mind forgets nearly everything and wanders on its own. it’s inevitable when i’m deeply introverted and prefer solitude. in fact, i need to be alone to recharge; it’s non-negotiable, and it’s how i’m able to engage in most of what i do, whether for entertainment or self-reflection like this very piece.

eventually, i “forget” to socialize altogether, leaving most chats unread and staying away from social media for days. when i reconnect — virtually or physically — the memories resurface, and i can pick up where things were left off. not everyone can hit it off naturally, though, and those who can’t eventually drift away.

still, i’m deeply grateful to have met and bonded with friends who understand this part of me and remember the relationship for me. they’re the ones who reach out, who don’t take my silence personally, and whose presence remains steady despite my absence.

aphantasia

somewhere along the way, i learned about aphantasia — the inability to visualize images in one’s mind. i don’t think i’m aphantasic, though i’m not sure whether what i imagine could be called “images” at all.

most tests for aphantasia involve imagining an apple and describing how vividly you can see it. i can’t say i see an apple, but i can certainly imagine one. after seeing the image above, the apples in my mind are exactly those — complete with the people’s heads. the details i recall are always those i’ve seen somewhere before.

still, i don’t know if that counts as “seeing” an image in my mind. when i close my eyes, there’s only darkness. i can imagine an apple, but it feels more like viewing a picture on a screen in front of me, like a screenshot. yet i can alter everything about it — from its color to its shape, and even the environment around it.

perhaps i’m overthinking it. from the way i describe things, i might even lean toward hyperphantasia, especially after reading about the comorbidity of hyperphantasia. i’m not lacking an inner dialogue either; i can “hear” and converse with myself, play and singalong to songs in my head, and also imagine entire scenarios and conversations.

acceptance

i would be lying if i said it isn’t frustrating to remember my life less vividly than others seem to. but i’m also able to “forget” bad experiences and detach from them completely, as if they never happened.

i’d be curious to know what a professional diagnosis might reveal. until then, writing remains one of the most effective ways for me to “remember” my life and make sense of it. there’s comfort in knowing that a memory is etched somewhere — that i can revisit it, link back to it, and avoid rebuilding my thoughts from scratch each time the topic arises.

i’ve also learned to keep my physical and digital spaces clean and organized. emphasis on clean — neatly stored clutter is still clutter, and it will haunt my mind. the “out of sight, out of mind” mantra doesn’t seem to work with me.

inspired by I Do Not Remember My Life and It’s Fine, which i found deeply relatable except for the aphantasia part. i first mentioned it in June 2025 Harvest.