I have early memories of a non verbal world, and in it, objects were not discrete. There were visually distinct elements, such things on the walls, and the wall

I have early memories of a non verbal world, and in it, objects were not discrete. There were visually distinct elements, such things on the walls, and the walls themselves, but I had no concept of them being separate, or having names, or needing them, and didn't think about them. I just looked around. There was no chain of thoughts, just silent observation. Likewise, I lacked object permanence. When my mother left the room, she ceased to exist; I did not think about her or imagine her being somewhere else. There was no sense of time, no before or after that I can tell.I was just living in the moment. Ironically I know now what time it was, my rough age, and even the season, because of the specifics of where my room was. It was afternoon nap time. The sunlight was streaming in my window, which happened only in fall/winter, as there was a summertime screen of trees. We later reoriented our house, so that lets me establish my age too. I was just turned two, and late to talk. There must have been some sense of self by then, but I think that starts earlier, developing from kicking your legs and swinging your arms, and eventually realizing that you are a causation. Talking about this memory damages it, because language and symbolism overlays the experience into an approximation. But it is very different from my other memories. I think I held onto that memory because I had a later event that echoed it. Soon after we moved to another town, and there a whole bunch of people got the flu. People had not forgotten the Spanish Flu by the early 70s, and there was worries about another one. So they quarantined the hospital,put me in an oxygen tent, and I got to enjoy another timeless experience. By that time I could think, though I didn't talk. During admittance, my mom was holding me while talking to a nurse, and I saw a person in an oxygen tent get pushed down a hallfway. I pointed and asked, "Can I be in one of those?" Years later when I related this to my mother, she laughed and said, "No you didn't, you were too young to talk like that." I wasn't yet old enough to be told "you'll be here for a few days at least", or "mommy can't visit you(and she was pregnant)". The O2 tent was comprised of a yellowish, rubbery vinyl, and I remember touching it, and that it was a new experience for me. Couldn't really see anything through it, except diffuse sunlight. So I lay there facing the wall mostly, too sick to move, and spent a week with no internal narrative. I don't remember feeling lonely, scared, or bored. I remember a nurse checking on me(and probably changing my diaper), but not being awake at night.