You know how a fuzzy television set is a bit of a disappointment these days? We watch everything in crystal-clear HDTV, so at best a static-filled screen evokes a kind of gushy nostalgia; at worst, it irritates the viewer until they get a headache and have to turn it off.
My whole life is like that, thanks to a rare condition called Visual Snow. Personally, I think Visual Static would be a more accurate title, because that's what it is: my entire field of vision is filled with millions of tiny, flashing, swirling dots like an old, static TV screen.
I didn't know that I had this condition, or that it even existed, until I got to college. I sat down with my friend and asked her what colors her dots were. She looked at me like I was insane and asked me what the heck I was talking about. So I told her. I thought everyone knew that the universe was made of dots. It shook my world to learn that when people said something was coming out "in HD!" they weren't getting as ripped off as I thought they were. I was secretly almost glad I had it then; I had always had trouble focusing, and now at least I had something to blame it on.
There are several things that tend to accompany Visual Snow, at least from what I've seen in the few people I know who have it. The first is tinnitus, a ringing in the ears that can be either intermittent or constant. The second is a sensitivity to bright light, like fluorescent classroom lighting or the midday sun on a white wall. The darkness makes the dots more prominent and aggressive in their movement, but somehow it's not nearly as annoying as white lights. Adding darkness feels almost like giving my eyes a hug. But it also makes it much easier to step out of reality, to visit the world of introspection and neglect what's really there.
There's no cure yet for Visual Snow. The few doctors who have heard and care about it don't know exactly what causes it. There are no days in which it gets better. And although I'm a hardcore optimist, I'm pretty sure I'll always see the world through a fuzzy television screen, no matter what.
And maybe I shouldn't complain, because there really are much, much worse disorders to get stuck with. But I wonder sometimes, what is it like to see the stars for what they are? How much better would I do in my classes if I could focus on the professor instead of the static whipping around? I won't ever know, and that's OK. I've got to remember to look past those little dots and focus on what's right in front of me.
