Summary

The website content describes the personal experience of an individual with Synesthesia, a neurological condition where the senses overlap, and how it has shaped their unique perception of the world, particularly in relation to reading, writing, and interpersonal interactions.

Abstract

The author recounts childhood memories of discovering their Synesthesia, a condition where senses intermingle, leading to unconventional experiences such as tasting words or feeling textures as flavors. This revelation came through an aunt who also exhibited signs of Synesthesia and encouraged the author's sensory exploration. The narrative explains Synesthesia as a harmless and potentially beneficial trait that enhances memory and creativity, though it can also lead to challenges with spatial orientation and understanding conventional directions. The author reflects on the profound impact of Synesthesia on their life, from childhood quirks to adult abilities, such as an exceptional memory for book covers and the skill of reading while walking without obstruction. The condition also influences the author's writing style, as they literally taste and feel words, and has a significant effect on their sensual experiences, including sexual encounters, which are described as deeply immersive and multisensory.

Opinions

The author views Synesthesia as a unique and enriching aspect of their life, contributing to a heightened sensory experience.
Synesthesia is presented not as a disorder but as a different way of perceiving the world that can lead to a more vivid and creative existence.
The author suggests that Synesthesia is more common among creative individuals, such as musicians, artists, and writers.
There is a sense of camaraderie and understanding towards others with Synesthesia, as well as a broader empathy for those who are considered different or unusual.
The author expresses a mix of amusement and frustration regarding the challenges Synesthesia presents, particularly in following conventional directions or explaining their sensory experiences to others.
Synesthesia is seen as a gift that enhances the author's writing, allowing them to experience language in a multisensory way that influences their literary voice.
The author hints at a future exploration of how Synesthesia influences their sexual experiences, indicating a deep connection between sensory perception and intimacy.

When your senses kiss each other

Have you ever tasted words?

She caught me sniffing the books in her library when I was nine years old.

My weird literary aunt Alta was a Helena Bonham-Carter lookalike. She contracted polio as a child, so when I heard her dragging gait on the wooden floor I panicked. I dropped the Readers Digest Condensed book I had been sniffing, (the scent- equivalent of a supermarket wine) and scrambled to my feet.

I expected a disapproving “get out in the sun with the other kids,” but she didn’t miss a beat. Reaching for a blue, leather-bound copy of R.D Blackmore’s Lorna Doone, she cracked it open in front of my little nose and let me have a whiff of a 1930’s Romance of Exmoor. It was a heady aroma- capturing the dark shelves of a bookstore in rainy London.

“Get a load of that one,” she smiled.

We looked at each other and I felt less alone. She’s the reason I embraced books as a child and still have a tendency to slink off into my own world like a cat.

What’s the point of this little story?

I realise that many people sniff books. You might even be one of them. So this might not sound particularly unique. However, that was one of the earliest indications that I had Synesthesia, a wiring of the brain where the senses overlap. And that my aunt (a writer and philosopher) probably had it too. For synesthetes (as we are called), letters and numbers might have colours. Touch evokes sounds and colours. It’s as if the neurons in our brains grow outside their fences like weeds, touching each other.

No idea what I’m on about? Let me equate this to something you might have experienced. Imagine someone scraping their nails down a chalkboard. You see it (sense of sight) but feel it (sense of touch) as a jolt of electricity running up and down your spine. Now imagine hearing a note on a piano and seeing a burst of colour in your mind’s eye.

Synesthesia is not a mental illness. People born with it test negative for schizophrenia, psychosis, delusions, and other disorders. In fact, it seems to contribute to youthful memory and brain function due to the increased connections in the brain and stops mental decline.

In my case, my sense of touch is particularly affected. Running my fingertips along a soft, silky surface, creates a phantom taste on my tongue. Butterscotch for instance. Rough textures like gravel taste like cracked pepper or gunpowder.

A weird and wonderful childhood

As a child, synaesthesia was just an odd and at times embarrassing quirk that I tried to hide. In hindsight, I did really strange things. My grandfather had a soft patch of skin just under his chin and I used to sit on his lap and gently run my fingertips along it. It felt like cotton wool dough and I kind of zoned out. He was a singer, so we sang folk songs in our little world while my senses purred.

Aged 7, I sat next to a boy in school with silky curly hair. I thought nothing of leaning over and rubbing my cheek against it, relishing the feeling and tastes it evoked. I have no idea why he allowed me- maybe be thought that’s just something girls did, like stroking a cat.

It had certain advantages on the playground, as I could conjure up rich worlds for others to come and play make-believe in. It also gave me a heart for other weirdoes and underdogs. I included everyone in our games- even the smelly kid who pulled out his hair and ate it.

As an adult, I can remember the cover of almost every book I’ve ever read. Or even just seen. Books evoke so many senses for me- the embossed title, an image, words and the smell of it. Don’t ask me what I could possibly do with such a useless skill. I also have the ability to walk and read at the same time, no matter how rough the terrain. My sense of sight focuses on the page and the other four senses spread out like radar so I don’t walk into things . Like human echolocation.

On the flip side, people with synesthesia seem to have a love/hate relationship with directions. GPS is our best friend. To find my way around, I might look out for that tree that looks like a dragon’s head next to the road. However, if I ask you for directions and you tell me to “head North”, I’m internally glaring at you. You could just as well have offered me a popsicle.

The deliciousness of words

Where I have really loved and appreciated Synesthesia, is when I write.

I can taste and feel words.

Few people have seen me do this, but certain words, like “snow” (rounded words that have full bodies like grapes are particularly triggering), make me run my tongue across the inside of my mouth, tracing the pattern of that word. Like a braille oral fixation.

So writers have different tastes to me. That famed “voice” of a writer? It’s more of a favour and scent to me. That’s how I know writing is good, when it feels just right. The “up” feelings in the writing balance with the “down” feelings. I have no other way to describe that, sorry. I suppose in the way the chords in music just go together, writing does too.

Synesthesia and sex

There are a handful of people I’ve confided in. I’m not ashamed of it at all, in fact I relish the richness it brings to my life. It’s just so incredibly hard to explain in words.

Subconsciously, I think people know that I am very sensual without being told. I often get given candles, candy floss, popping candy, fluffy scarves, satin dresses etc as birthday presents. Anything that floods the senses.

But no one understands how deeply it affects me. In particular, it has been well documented that people with Synesthesia experience sex very differently, almost trance-like.

I only realised this when overhearing other women talk about sex. And seeing the reaction of the men I have been in relationships with.

I will be exploring that in a follow-up article, but I might need some courage and red wine. Not because I’m a prude, but because it feels impossible to explain. A single kiss for instance- it’s like having heated caramel with a side serving of blue and the vibration of a cello. My brain rolls over like a cat having her back scratched. Have you ever seen a cat knead a blanket with their nails? That state of bliss they enter? It feels something like that.

If your brain speaks in senses, how do you convert it to text?

I would be interested to hear if anyone else has a touch of this. It seems to cluster among musicians, artists and writers, so if that’s you… hello there!

You’re not that weird, trust me.