Is Aphantasia Genetic? What about Hyperphantasia?

Aphantasia is the inability to picture things in your mind (bring to memory faces, places etc.). 
More on it here. 

Hyperphantasia is the opposite. One sees everything they think about: good and bad. They can't close their eyes without seeing something. 

Let's do a small test. 

Close your eyes and think of an apple. 
Can you see it? 
If you can't, try again, because your mind might be temporarily blind and it needs a push. 
Take an apple, look at it, smell it, hold it in your hands. 
Then close your eyes again. 
Can you see it now? 
How does it smell? 
What's its texture? 
Still nothing? 
Try again as previously, but this time,  raise the apple in front of your closed eyes.
Can you picture it in your mind now?
Are you able to make a memory to take form in your mind?

If yes, then you don't have aphantasia.

Is one born with aphantasia (hyperphantasia)? 
Maybe. Scientists affirm so. 

Is it passed on from a generation to another? 
Perhaps. Idem. 

Can one lose this ability to see with the mind? 
Yes. 

Why?  
Physical (head) injury, emotional trauma etc.

Is there a cure? Can you bring it back? Can one learn to see what's not in front of them? 
Some say practice will make it work.

Is there a remedy for hyperphantasia? 
Scientists are working on that.

In my opinion, aphantasics and hyperphantasics can be healed.

Please note that aphantasia and hyperphantasia are not diseases and one shouldn't be afraid or think they are going to die. 

Your life won't change for the worse if you find out that you have aphantasia. You won't need pills, doctors and surgeries. You're not ill. You're normal. Perfectly imperfect. 

It's not a big deal! 

It's just unfortunate if you're a painter or any sort of creative person. 

But, if you always believed you're crazy because your thoughts take form when you close your eyes, 

your life will change for the better when you realize that You don't have a mental disease. 

You're not insane. 

Your mind isn't broken. 

You have a condition and you might be able to control it with the help of knowledgeable people and science. 

I am affected by aphantasia and I am doing everything I can to understand why because my job is to create stories. 
I don't believe that I was born with a blind mind, as some say.
It can't be true. 

Scientists affirm that a person might lose the ability to picture anything in their minds due to head trauma, disease, strong emotional pain, shock etc. 

After years of research and experiments (on me), the following are my thoughts on why am I an anosmic aphantasic. 

As I mentioned, I don't believe I was born this way.  

It's true that I have never been able to dream or imagine anything in my mind in my entire life, but I recall a (short) period of time from my childhood in which I was very proud of having a visual memory. 

I was 10 maybe. During a literature exam in school, I saw with my mind the pages of the notebook on which I wrote the resume of the story we were tested on. 

Every word was clear, I could see them as you read these ones. Every word except one. 

I wrote everything down, exactly how I was reading it from my mind's work notebook and left a blank in the place of that word. 

I was convinced it will come to me in the end. Somehow. 

I closed my eyes trying very hard to see that damn word. Many times. It didn't work. 

I could see the whole page, every word, except that one. It seemed to be covered on purpose. 

I read what I wrote a couple of times. I was looking for a synonym of the word I couldn't see or bring to memory. 

The weirdest thing is that I could not come up with any term whatsoever. I knew what I was looking for, but... nothing. My mind was blocked. 

When the teacher asked us to stop writing, I looked at my test and felt an impostor. 

I knew I was going to get a good grade because writing has always been "my thing", but that didn't make me happy. I really didn't care about grades. All I cared about was knowledge and doing the right thing. 
There was no use to visualize for I loved reading and writing. I could write a resume with eyes closed. 

"What will the teacher think when she'll see the blank?" I asked myself. 

"She will believe that I have cheated! OMG! How am I going to explain it? Will she still see me for who I truly am? What have I done?! I ruined my entire scholastic future. I will always be hunted by this." 

Now, there is a need to explain some things about me. 

I have exam phobia. 

That is because I never believed in myself. I never trusted my memory, I never had any faith in any of my learning abilities. All these despite my grades. I was a very good student, most teachers were aware of that. 

I was aware of that because I loved studying, I adored school. Yet, I never believed I could pass any exam or test. I was terrified of being questioned. 

"You know I know because I love studying. Have you ever asked me something and had no reply or the wrong answer? Why testing me? Leave me alone!" 

During an exam, eight out of ten, my mind goes blank. I can physically feel a wall around my brain. No knowledge or memory can breakthrough.
They are all trapped inside until the test is over.
You have no idea how many times I went numb and desperate during tests even after studying hard and having the answers in my head at all times.
Do you know how frustrating that is? 

If I still managed to pass my tests is because writing comes naturally to me. I write by instinct and sometimes is the right thing. Not always. Sometimes.
I never got upset when my test results were bad. I knew why. But I was upset with me. Angry with my mind because it refused to collaborate.

Truth be told, I haven't failed many tests in my life, but that's because I stayed away from them. I didn't go to university because of that.

Fear petrifies people.
Lucky for me, I don't panic when someone's life is in danger and I can easily solve difficult problems or make possible things considered impossible by many.
You're safe with me. Just don't test me.

I was (still am) terrified of breaking the law so I am a rule follower. 

In every situation, no matter what. 

My dad's heredity. 

So, cheated was never a resource for me. It was wrong, dishonest, despicable. Besides, there was no reason for that. 

Don't get me wrong, I didn't have all the answers. I wasn't a flawless pupil. In fact, I was the most ignorant scholar that has ever walked on this earth in geometry, physics and chemistry. 

These were Gibberish to me. They still are. 

But literature, grammar and algebra were my passions. I was obsessed with them. 

I couldn't not know everything and more, much more than any of my teachers expected. 

Years have passed since then... Life happened and I forgot everything. I am ignorant now and I am deeply ashamed. 

So you see, I wasn't born with a blind mind. I could see some things. 

Actually, that was the only time I have been able to see something that was not in front of my eyes. 

Is this enough to be convinced that I wasn't born with the inability to imagine or recall pictures in my mind? 

I believe so. 

So why can't I dream then? 

The conclusion (or explanation), valid in my case only, is that is due to the period I came on this earth, the place and the education I've been given by my parents (mostly indirectly, but constant).  

My dad was never happy when he caught me reading books that were not requested by my teachers. 

Reading was a waste of time for him. "Books place weird ideas in the heads of people and ruin the fragile minds of children. It's all manipulative fiction. Same as movies."  

My personality and traits of character didn't help either: sensibility, hypersensitivity, empathy, a deep sense of responsibility... 

I grew up too fast. I became an adult way before seeing a doll in front of my eyes. I was 5. Maybe. I wrote about this in "Oranges at Christmas in a Communist Country". 

I have never known how to play... or dream. There were always better things to do... like working the land, cooking, going to school. 
Luckily, I loved school. I said it before. But working the land and cooking weren't bad either. Somebody had to do them, they were necessary. And I was not the only child doing adults' stuff. My siblings were next to me, neighbours, friends... the whole village. 

The art of survival during a very oppressive communist regime. 

I am not implying that all people living in places cursed by geography and history are born or become aphantasics, but, in my humble opinion and based on my experience only, the hypersensibility of a human has the last word. 

And not any kind of hypersensibility, but the one that controls your life entirely. The exaggerated sense of responsibility. Growing up too fast, not obliged by others but by you. You chose to become an adult because you care too much for the others. 

If you're forced by people, you might still be able to dream in your free time. 

I never had free time when I was a child. My choice.  

Dreaming is a characteristic of children, usually. Isn't it? 

If you didn't have time to be a child, how can you dream when you're an adult? 

You don't know how to do it. 

You try, but the reality hits you in the head so badly that it knocks you out completely. 

The negative reality I am referring to. You've got that. 

It's rather difficult for any person to break the circle of negativity that suffocates them and makes the land of dreaming infertile. 

Many come out of these brilliantly, but every person's situation is different. There are many variables. Maybe they had someone who supported them and taught them to dream at some point in their lives. Perhaps a parent, a sibling, a friend, a teacher, a priest, a doctor, the internet, a book, a word from a television program or radio transmission... Anyone, anything. 

I can't think of a single soul I ever told something about my hopes when I was little. 

Except for God. But He has never spoken back. He only listened. He might have given me signs, but I didn't know how to interpret them. I had no knowledge. I was mostly a slave. A puppet. 

We had no internet, almost no Tv or radio programs. 

Religion was never mentioned in public. You couldn't just go talk with a priest. You only confessed your sins. In utmost secret for it was against the leaders' beliefs. 

Most teachers wouldn't even consider us human beings. By "us" I mean farmers and children of farmers. We had no rights, just duties. 

It's true that I devoured un uncountable number of books, however, it was during a communist regime. 

A regime that didn't leave anything to the chance. The communists could not allow people to think for themselves. They censored every written and spoken word that might have encouraged us to want more. Any idea implanted in our heads meant revolution. 

We ought to be ignorant and submissive. 
The perfect proletarians. 

It is quite complicated to explain what communism felt like for me. 

People always tell me how good were things back then. 
They insinuate that my memory fails me. 

They accuse me of being unfair. 
They say that I am distorting history to my liking. 

But how do they know me? 

My perceptions, emotions and feelings don't match with everyone's else. 
They don't know what I lived, they know what they lived or felt or read about. 

If 1,000 people say a lie or one version of a story, it doesn't make it true for everyone else. 
My siblings have a completely different opinion of the communist regime than me. 
And we lived in the same house. 

We all have selective memory. 
For example, ten people who live the same experience, at the same exact time, remember things differently. And not deliberately. 

Memory is influenced by mood, emotions, personality, beliefs etc. 
The weather plays a huge role in it. 
It's all subjective. 
A matter of perspectives. 
Have you ever thought of that? 

You can't tell anyone that their memory is wrong because you were there and things didn't occur as they say. 
How can you be sure that yours is right? 

Here is a very interesting article about memory, if you're interested.

I believe that I cannot picture what I want because reality has bullied my mind every time I thought outside the box, outside my world.

Self-sabotage. 
Not because I want to, but because (my) reality doesn’t allow me to escape it. 

However, I don’t give up on my dream – wish/purpose/desire.  I will make a living from writing one day.

Visualizing is a supernatural power for me. Whoever possesses it is a sorcerer who can bring anything into existence.  

That’s what Maxwell Maltz says in “Theatre of the Mind - Psycho-Cybernetics”, with different words, of course. I am only a self-taught dilettante. 

Have I ever dreamed with open (or close) eyes? 

No. 

I was only three when I tried to imagine my future life. Having a family of my own, children, a house... 

I couldn't, no matter how many times I tried.
As a result, I was convinced that I was going to die before reaching maturity.
I knew then it was not normal not being able to imagine what most people do every second.
I took it a sign of destiny. 

I didn't know it was a condition so beautifully called aphantasia. 

Do I have dreams while I sleep? 

According to researchers, everybody dreams. 

But I only remember two dreams.
They were awful. Nightmares. 

It was a war. 

My family was being hunted down by soldiers for pleasure. We were terrified. 

All my nine siblings and parents were shot dead, one by one, in front of me after being chased like rats. 

When the last one was gone, I came up from the trench with my arms wide open. 

There was no reason for me to keep running. Everyone I loved was dead. I would have never forgotten what I witnessed. 

They emptied their guns at me.  

I was beyond feelings and emotions. 

The second one is about my little brother. The youngest, really. He is not that little anymore. 

He was on a plane and I was on top of a skyscraper. 

The plane crashed and I watched it diving into the abyss of an ocean. 

I am scared of flying, tall buildings and deep water. But the biggest fear of them all is to lose my little brother. We grew up together and were inseparable.
My heart was bleeding.
I couldn't bear it. 

Happy dreams? 

I don't know what they feel like because I don't recall having any other dream than the ones narrated above. 

Do you relate to any of this? 

Are Aphantasia and Hyperphantasia Genetic? 

I asked again. 

I am not sure.
The human mind is so intricate. We cannot rely on our minds and memories. They trick us.
My father is gone, I cannot ask him.
My mother seems to be able to visualize quite well.
My siblings too.

What's hyperphantasia? 

The opposite of aphantasia, I said in the beginning. 

Too much is almost never good. 

So it's too little. 

We all have some things that we could live without and enjoy a better existence. 

But this is... Life.

People tell me stories in which I am one of the protagonists, but I can't recall them at all.
And they are not old. I am not old. Just in my mind.
In these cases, I think that I might have a sort of an early Alzheimers.
Could it be aphantasia instead?

I believe it's the fact that those stories meant nothing to me. They made an impact on others but left me impassible.

How can I believe what I read in history books? 
Maybe that's why I don't like history much. 

Anyway, I am sick and tired of feeling so helpless regarding visualization. 

Meditation might save me. 

So I will continue looking for a way to "cure" my aphantasia and change my thinking patterns. 

There must be one. I am sure of it. 

I am just not looking in the right direction. 

Do you have any advice for me? 

Any solution, idea, hunch? 

Do you know anyone who can help me so I could help others like me? 

If aphantasia is not a disease, why am I so determined to find a cure/solution? 
Because I need to create another reality.
I never liked the one I am living in.
I don't belong here. But I can't escape it. I ran away so many times... It brought me back. I am on my knees and they hurt too much for I am forced to kneel against my will. 

Do I blame communism for everything bad that happened in my life? 
Au contraire. 

During Ceaușescu's regime, I had the opportunity to read thousands of books. Many can only dream about this... But they don't have time. Technology keeps them busy. There is so much to watch on TV and the internet and a day has 24 hours only.

What I lived then taught me to appreciate the good things in my life. Things that most take for granted.
Like a shower, a toast or a cup of coffee. Real coffee.  

So, allow me to remember that oranges were not grey as I used to believe, for I only saw them (milliseconds) on a black and white TV.
It's a fact. One of the innumerable you might have read about in books, magazines and newspapers.

I have the right to put my memories into words for others to read, even if I can't imagine.
I was there, I felt the pain and struggles of everybody around me.
I relive these.... everything,  every single time I hear the word "communism".
Because for me, memory is about feelings.
Ceaușescu was about power. We were nothing to him. 

And orange is not the new black. 

Perhaps in your life or imagination. Not in mine.

What was the word I couldn't see in my mind or bring to memory during that test? 

Isolated. 
That's everything I recall from that resume because when the class was over, I looked up the covered word and read it out loud several times, so I will never forget it again. In no context.

Which story's resume? 
I can't tell.
And this has a profound meaning to me. 

Photo from Pixabay