I keep strabbin’ out. When I start to see double vision, or when an image I’m looking at begins to break into two images, I call that strabbin’ out. I’ve come to realize that the double vision-y ness I’m seeing is equal to the turn-in of my eye. I was staring at the house across the street the other day, and took the time to match what I saw with how my eyes appeared. Here’s a sketch of what my eyes were doing with each moment of house double-vision:
Furthermore, not only does my eye move in, towards my nose–which causes double-vision along a horizontal axis–my eye moves vertically (I don’t know if it moves up or down.) The horizonal wonkiness is correctable with vision therapy, but the verticalwonk is more challenging, apparently…and sometimes prism in a pair of glasses is the only cure. I will maintain fervent optimism, however, because I would love to wear contact lenses once vision therapy is complete.
I see a lot more double vision these days, because now my brain is not supressing my left eye. For the past 3 decades of my life (or so) I have been strabbin’ out, but my brain ignored the extra doubled image from my left eye. This caused amblyopia in my left eye. But after weeks of vision therapy, my left eye’s vision is now 20/20 (with glasses) and this means the double vision when I’m strabbin’ out is good news. Furthermore, I am strabbin’ out with either eye–this sketch demonstrates my right eye turning in (also like my avatar picture on this blog.)
Now the task is to stop the strabbin’ out. The other day I was thinking about how I am able to make my eye strab out…I sort of stare, then relax and let my focus slide, and it feels like my eye is sliding outwards. What if I do the opposite? I do the opposite, and sometimes it works. I feel like I’m holding back on my right eye…but it feels as “controlled” as when you try to wiggle your ears; I’m thinking really hard about it, and then I think my tongue starts twitching in the back of my mouth
Strabbin’ out is really an error in eye-aiming. If both eyes are properly aimed at the house, and my brain understands that, I’ll see one house. If one eye is aimed at the house, and the other is turning in–seeing the house from a different angle: strabby time. It’s like two people, side by side, both looking at the same house, but of course, it is impossible for those two people to see the house from the exact same perspective.
But that’s what normally-functioning eyes do, even as a nose separates them.