My friend told me that facing my fears was gonna be important. I think she was right. Here’s one of them.
Here’s one of my weirder fears: Acknowledging that I have low vision, am partially sighted, partially blind, whatever you want to call it.
- I use a screenreader.
- I learned emacs so I could use emacspeak to run my old laptop without ever having to see the screen. I would go long periods of doing all of my computer and online work using a full screenreader.
- More recently, I have had extreme trouble reading anything visually longer than a couple paragraphs. I use a screenreader for that.
- I can’t see cars even when they’re about to hit me.
- I have been pulled out of traffic by both friends and strangers.
- My ex insisted on holding my hand when I crossed the street due to my inability to process the visual information quickly enough to be safe around moving cars. I have a cognitive doppelgänger named Anne, and her significant other refers to parking lots as “Anne death traps” for the same reason. She’s been hit before.
- When i was growing up, I never fell out of a tree, which I could feel with my whole body. But on flat ground, I often tripped or even fell due in part to being unable to see obstacles or feel my body properly. I did better with walking sticks or similar. (Also true of Anne.)
- Doctors have checkboxed “low vision” on forms for me before without asking me, just knowing my vision problems.
- I just can’t see obstacles fast enough to react to them. I walk straight into things even when I do see them, because even when I see them I don’t process visual information fast enough.
- I can identify objects by touch far better than sight.
- I can feel my way around much more reliably for understanding and navigating my environment, than I can see my way around. Seeing is like a backup sense at best.
- I fall less in the dark than I do in the light because visual information is often just a distraction to me.
- Sometimes I take my glasses off so I can navigate the world better.
- I used to have an entire system where in new places, I’d grab one end of a scarf or sock and have a friend or caregiver grab the other, and then I wouldn’t bash into things and fall over nearly as much, and could find my way around rapidly.
- I often stop and feel things with my hands or feet to understand them.
- I understand things best through the physical movement of my body through space. I loved being able to feel the sidewalk through my power wheelchair even though the visual part of driving it around was grueling (another reason for a cane, whether or not I end up needing the powerchair again, which I suspect I do for longer distances).
- I’ve been comparing my visual problems to blind people for a really long time.
- I’ve been trying to convince people that spatial is not visual, because I am so very spatial that I used to have an automatic map of everywhere I’d ever been, yet so very much not a visual thinker and I often used the comparison of “the way blind people do spatial things”.
- People often assume I’m blind without even asking, just from how I respond to my environment.
“Cuz I’m blind” has become my go-to reply when people ask me why I didn’t see something, which is pretty much always. Except, it’s not a joke, I really do count as low vision. I’ve been afraid to face it and some of its implications, but it’s true. And my second mom has told me that only living with me for six months has taught her exactly how bad my eyesight is.
It’s not conventionally awful, mind you. Without my glasses I can’t see well at all, but my corrected vision is almost normal, or was last time I got checked.
I basically function like I have various forms of visual agnosias. That’s where you might have 20/20 vision (or might not), but you can’t understand what you see, or parts of what you see.
I also have really weird visual effects that I think are from a combination of overload and synesthesia. It makes everything a fragmented distorted mess. In new places, it can be severe enough that I understand nothing of what I see but get horrible motion sickness from all the moving pieces and no visual horizon. At least that’s how it was explained to me by a researcher once. I always had the visual distortions, but only after I became capable of motion sickness in my teens, did I start vomiting uncontrollably after traveling. Before that I could play with my vision almost like a toy and didn’t find the distortions distressing.
I have migraines and temporal lobe epilepsy. Each of those can cause its own temporary visual issues, from visual agnosia to various spots and lines and blobs and blank spots in your vision. One of my neurologists, the migraine specialist, suspects I am in status migraine aura. Status means constant. Migraine means the large set of things that can happen (not even close to just a headache) as a result of migraine headaches, anything from mild visual distortions to things that resemble a stroke if you don’t know what’s going on. Aura is the part of the migraine that isn’t the headache and usually comes before a headache, so includes all the visual distortions that come with migraines.
So — whether he’s right or not about the source of this being a constant migraine aura I don’t know but it sounds plausible — my visual field is filled up with lots of clutter that isn’t part of the real world or distorts the real world. There’s spots. There’s blank spots. There’s little black squares. There’s squiggly pastel-colored lines. There’s stuff that looks like water — both like looking through water up through a swimming pool, and like looking through light sprinkling rain falling diagonally. There’s all kinds of things that get in the way of seeing anything at all. There’s something that looks like rainbow-colored contour maps that can cover my entire visual field, and same with blobs of colored cloud.
Then there’s seizures. When I have them, I can hallucinate just about anything I’ve seen before in the past. Like one time it was the Dark Mark from Harry Potter, another time it was a doll from Japan that belonged to my mother. Both moved in a characteristic way. It’s rare that I have full-on visual hallucinations like that, but they happen during seizures sometimes.
Things can look like they’re moving when they’re not. Things can look like they’re stopped when they’re moving. Things can look like they are stopped in one place, then stopped in a new place, then stopped in a new place. Things can look like they are just pieces like a Cubist painting all pointing different ways. Things can look like all kinds of things. And they look quite interesting a lot of the time, some of this may help me in my art, but they aren’t really good for seeing.
Every time I go out, I risk falling, and cars are a hazard, and yet I have been reluctant to get a white cane.
I’m getting a white cane.
I’ve been afraid of the classic low vision problem of taking out your white cane to signal drivers the need for safety, but then pulling out a book and getting yelled at by people who don’t know that blind and low vision people can sometimes read. (And somehow think it’s their business. Why it’s their business, I don’t know. Even if it were somehow Against The Rules, it’s not like anyone’s getting hurt by the fact that disability isn’t as black and white as people want to make it.)
Understand — this means that ableism has filled my life so much that I was risking my life rather than risk the social embarrassment of getting yelled at by people who don’t understand my vision, don’t need to understand my vision, and shouldn’t get themselves involved.
I’ve heard of people doing the same thing with wheelchairs. I never had a problem with wheelchairs.
But growing up, I was always being told I “looked blind”. I asked, at one point, what people meant. Apparently it’s my posture, the fact I wear tinted glasses inside, the fact that I tend to stare straight ahead and not blink a lot, and the fact that I don’t react quickly to most kinds of visual information. (Small objects moving at a certain speed are a strong suit of mine. So like, if I try to play basketball the ball looks like a bunch of fragmented pieces, but if I play badminton or ping-pong it’s just the right size and speed I can be reasonably good at the sport.)
I’ve realized that every piece of adaptive equipment I already have is necessary, and there are more kinds I need.
If I don’t use my walker indoors, I fall. And yet I forget to use my walker. (Not this week much. Not with my hip possibly fractured. But usually. I’m trying to get better.)
And I forget to use my feeding pump properly.
And a million other things.
So I’m gonna try to learn basic cane travel. And at minimum I’m gonna get a signal cane for crossing the street. I’ve broken bones crossing the street trying to dodge cars I can’t see already. I don’t need to test how often I can survive that.
In addition to the agnosia-like stuff, by the way, myasthenia presents its own visual complications. There’s something called pseudomyopia which means my vision gets randomly and intermittently blurry. Then there’s also the fact that my eye muscles weaken so that my eyes point both out to the sides and one of them points downwards, resulting in double vision at best and terrible depth perception.
I also have the much more standard myopia and astigmatism.
But I need to get used to the idea that I’m low-vision, for real, not just something I say to laugh off the fact that I’m uncomfortable with physically not being able to see obvious things that are right in front of me.
Because I am.
And I need to start adapting to that and stop being scared.
People will think what they want to think no matter what I do. I might as well try and live the life I’m supposed to live, not the life other people want for me. It’s not like not having a cane has worked in terms of not getting treated as if I’m blind.
Cuz I’m blind. Or low vision. Or whatever. And it apparently shows, and always to some extent has.
I just don’t feel like hiding anymore.