Part 3
I think the reason I have always kept my "gift" a secret, is because of the stigma that was attached to me as a child. I was the four year old that people were afraid to talk around. Children are naturally curious and inquisitive, and I was no different. It becomes unsettling, however, when a four year old starts asking questions about VERY adult conversations. Family members "clammed up" if I was around... they were afraid of what I might hear; even more afraid of what I might repeat. The first lesson my childhood taught me, was to keep my mouth shut.
The second lesson I learned was even more difficult to deal with as a child... it is that everyone lies.
We all tell our children lies... Santa, the Easter Bunny, storks bring babies, etc. Those things never bothered me... lies told more out of love, than for the purpose of deception. With an eidetic memory, however, I caught on to all of the deceit within my family, because my mind would immediately lock on to all of the subtle inconsistencies in everything I heard. My mother, as any other parent, always stressed honesty... yet, I lived in a fishbowl of deceit. My family isn't horrible... in fact, they are mostly pretty normal.
Truth be told, (no pun intended), only three people in my life have never lied to me... or, I just haven't caught them. I like to believe the former, rather than the latter. Two of those people are close friends. One is a man that I used to work for...
He is really the only one that ever deduced that I have an eidetic memory. He figured it out, because I slipped up. Part of my job at the time involved conducting the occasional internal security investigation. I always carried a notebook with me, but it honestly was mostly for show. The few things that I ever actually wrote down were random thoughts completely unconnected to the task at hand... like, maybe I should replace my shower head?
To make a long story short, he asked me to talk to him about an incident that we had. In my normal, nonchalant manner, I proceeded to give him all of the details, recalled all of the witness statements, etc. When I was finished he had an odd look on his face... he asked "where is your notebook?". Oops. He then asked me, quite bluntly, "when did you plan to tell me that you have a photographic memory?" I told him that it isn't a photographic memory, at least not as I understand it. He was also very sharp... it was never brought up again; a silent mutual understanding. He knew I kept it quiet... he didn't understand why, but he respected it. We never became "friends", but we had sincere mutual respect. My ability, of course, served his needs well... after all, I was an excellent investigator...
I do have my own controls... well, more like self-defenses. That, however, will have to wait until later. My first and foremost method is knowing when I need time to decompress... and this is one of those times... more later, I promise...
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