I’m much more than a musical memory machine, though. A Japanese TV company played me sounds once, very quietly: the rattle of a key in the door, a bus going past, birdsong. My heart rate jumped every time. I feel the impact of each sound emotionally. And in real life, I hear everything around me in a musical way, including words I don’t understand. So I just tend to repeat them, as though they were musical notes.
I’m a person of extremes: playing the piano I find easy, but I can’t, for instance, read or write, and, aged 40, I still don’t reliably know my left from my right, so I need help with virtually all everyday tasks. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m a great people person. I love my family and friends from all over the world.
I think that’s the main reason I like playing the piano – it’s my way of keeping in touch. It’s rare, if ever, that I’ll sit and play just for myself. Music is what helps me connect with others; it has become my identity. I’m Derek the piano player, the entertainer. I’m Derek, the musician.
Based on an interview with Derek Paravicini and Professor Adam Ockelford
‘I can remember everything. My brain has no capacity to forget’: Rebecca Sharrock, 30, Brisbane, Australia
‘I can remember every minute of every day in the finest of detail’: Rebecca Sharrock.
‘I can remember every minute of every day in the finest of detail’: Rebecca Sharrock
I remember it like it was just yesterday, the morning of 6 July 2014. It was a warm, sunny day in California – Mum and I were walking from our motel to Disneyland. I can hear the sound of laughter and music right now, the sweet smell of sugar in my nostrils as everyone rushed giddily around.
My memories from the evening of 5 July 2005 are just as clear. Aged 15, I was at a concert with my sister. An usher was rude to her while I had a little meltdown. Each time I think of it the feelings of depression, anxiety and embarrassment are triggered. I’m transported right back there.
In fact, I can remember every minute of every day in the finest of detail, and each time I experience the emotions I felt afresh. That’s what life with Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory, or HSAM, is like. It means, in short, that I have this ability to remember everything, but that also means my brain has no capacity to forget.
At 15, I was diagnosed with autism. When that happened it was no great surprise. A year later I was told I had obsessive-compulsive disorder, but my parents and I knew there was something more. And then we saw a segment on a TV news show about HSAM. My mum recognised it in me instantly. From a very young age I would talk to her about things that had happened years before, right down to the back-and-forth of specific conversations. She always said: “Rebecca, live in the present,” while I’d always focus on the past.