Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger’s

“Asperger’s is not a disease. It’s a way of being. There is no cure, nor is there a need for one.” 

Robison attempts to dispel several public misconceptions about Asperger’s and autism. Confronted as a child with pity and the assumption that he is “defective,” he uses his platform as a published author to promote awareness. By claiming that Aspergians do not require a cure, he is arguing that there is nothing wrong with them, a position only recently accepted.

“Being three years old was no excuse for disorderly play habits.”

From the outset, Robison grants his audience access to the inner workings of his mind. In explaining why he “whacks” his friend Doug on the ears, he states that Doug doesn’t know how to play correctly. Doug mixes different colored blocks together, something Robison can’t abide. His routine is fixed, and any deviation angers him. Physical reprisal, in his young mind, is a perfectly acceptable solution.

“Successful conversations require a give and take between both people. Being Aspergian, I missed that. Totally.” 

One of the most typical behaviors exhibited by people with Asperger’s is their seemingly disjointed, random patterns of conversation. Their responses may have nothing to do with the flow of the conversation. This is a fundamental aspect of social interaction that neurotypical people take for granted but that Aspergians struggle with daily.

“I have to be really good, so they won’t get rid of me.”

As Robison’s parents fight almost constantly, he assumes the fights are about him; having internalized the mockery and insults, he presumes he is responsible and will be punished. He fears his parents will “just leave” him “somewhere to fend for” himself (13). This wild notion is amplified by his inability to understand the causes of his own behavior.

“Even at five, I was beginning to understand the world of things better than the world of people.” 

Robison’s facility with machines launches his musical career at an unusually young age. He designs and builds custom guitars for KISS when he is in his early 20s. His savant-like ability is the result of recognizing, as early as five, that machines don’t insult or abuse you, that you can control them and, by extension, control your own environment. That feeling of power is essential for Robison when so much of his world is out of his control.

“My own little brother. I was very excited, but I was careful not show it, so they wouldn’t take him away from me.”

Robison mind is crowded with irrational fears. He associates excitement with loss, and when his brother is born, he hides his enthusiasm, fearing that it will result in losing him. The fact that they all have to live together under the same roof never occurs to him. Robison articulates this without any context, which gives the reader a glimpse into the unconventional workings of his brain.

“At one year of age, he wasn’t really useful for anything yet, but I could see the potential.”

Part of Robison’s emotional disconnection plays out in the way he relates to his younger brother. He sees him strictly in terms of his utility. Robison is already immersed in the world of machines, and he doesn’t always distinguish between that world and the world of people.

“Unlike some older brothers, I never set him on fire, or cut off an arm or a leg, or drowned him in the tub.” 

Sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between Robison’s sense of reality and his sense of humor. One wonders what older brothers he knows (or is aware of) who would do such horrific things. Perhaps he’s heard stories and exaggerated them in his mind. Either way, readers once again see the dark and distorted perceptions Robison exhibits.

“People die every minute, all over the world. If we tried to feel sorry for ever death, out little hearts would explode.”

One of Robison’s biggest challenges is understanding society’s feigned empathy for strangers. It makes no sense, he thinks, to react to the death of a stranger in the same way you would react to the death of a loved one. He finds the tendency hypocritical, and it angers him that his lack of misplaced empathy is misconstrued as antisocial. Throughout the book he struggles to navigate the unfamiliar waters of social etiquette.

“As I got older and smarter, my pranks became better, more polished. More sophisticated.” 

Robison’s practical jokes, initially encouraged by his grandfather, grow more elaborate and insensitive. Convincing his mother that his younger brother has been abducted from a petting zoo becomes a variation on a theme he uses repeatedly. He never expresses remorse over what must have been terrifying experiences for his victims; he simply views the pranks as successes or failures, another sign of his emotional detachment.

“Getting abused or beaten up or bullied is humiliating, even more so when it happens at home.”

Recounting the abuse he suffers at the hands of his father, Robison provides insight into why so much abuse goes unreported. If the victim is a child, they have little recourse; but even for adults, being victimized can epitomize weakness in a society that values strength. Robison admits that it took him many years to muster the courage to talk about his own abuse.

“The windows looked like they had never been opened. The office smelled of old carpets and tired people.” 

Describing the office of Dr. Finch, the unconventional (and later, indicted) therapist who treats his family, Robison foreshadows the bizarre world they are about to enter. Most people associate medical offices with cleanliness and sterility, but Finch’s is the opposite. The mustiness and stagnation are signs of the therapist’s decrepit methods. After years of being bound to Finch’s cult of personality, Margaret Robison escapes, ultimately suing him for sexual abuse.

“With a bit of practice, I became able to turn the words of a musician into technical descriptions that I used in my designs. For example, ‘This sound is fat’ translated to ‘There’s a lot of even-harmonic distortion.’” 

Robison’s savant-like genius lies in his ability to translate vague jargon into a workable reality. He describes how he “visualizes” the electronic circuits and even “hears” the music flowing through them. This sort of preternatural ability to use the senses in unconventional ways is the root of Robison’s creativity. It is also why being constrained by the rote routines of school drove him away.

“Real Varmints live in holes. And a real Varmint wouldn’t gotten stuck like you did. You must be a retarded Varmint.”

One of Robison’s practical jokes is to leave his brother headfirst in a hole he’s dug in their yard. When his younger brother cannot escape after 15 minutes, Robison pulls him out, marveling at the “fine hole” but exhibiting little empathy for his brother’s distress. To add insult to injury, Robison calls his brother “retarded” for being unable to climb out by himself. Robison’s years of victimization turn outward as he becomes the victimizer, starting with the nearest and easiest target, his brother.

“It was hard to object to even his most dubious techniques, though, because he and his family were always really nice to me, and he made me feel better.” 

Even though Dr. Finch turns out to be a fraud who does more harm than good, he convinces Robinson’s father to stop beating his sons. Robison is understandably conflicted. He senses immediately that Finch’s unorthodox methods verge on quackery, and he sees his mother falling under his less-than-professional influence; but because the time he spends with Finch and his family is so much less tumultuous than his time at home, he is reluctant to disparage the therapist. Once he becomes more independent, however, and spends less time at home, he no longer needs Finch for stability. He finds it in his friend Jim Boughton and in his burgeoning career as a music engineer. At this point, Robison sees Finch for the charlatan he really is.

“In the first sixteen years of my life, my parents took me to at least a dozen so-called mental health professionals. Not one them ever came close to figuring out what was wrong with me.” 

Herein lays the root of Robison’s problems: In the 1960s and ’70s Asperger’s syndrome is not yet recognized as an official diagnosis, nor is it understood that autistic behavior spans an entire spectrum of behavior. Well-meaning though they may be, therapists in these decades do not have the language or the tools to understand Robison’s condition, and they must rely on outdated theories. Without the help (or parental supervision) he desperately needs, Robison must learn by observation.

“You’d think anyone would be delighted to be there. Not me. All the small things I’d come to expect in life were missing.” 

When Robison travels to the Caribbean island of Montserrat with the band Fat, he describes it as a “tropical paradise.” They leave the New England winter for sunshine and beaches, but Robison can only focus on how the trip disrupts his schedule. Rigid behavior patterns and an obsessive dependence on routine are symptoms of Asperger’s. When those routines change, it produces anxiety. Robison struggles to enjoy his surroundings because the food, the environment, and the people are different.

“I never understood how some guys did things like that. A girlfriend for a week, just like that. I was too shy even to talk to them.”

One of the many aspects of the rock-and-roll lifestyle that baffles Robison is the casual sex. He witnesses members of Fat “hooking up” with strangers for a week only to leave town with no strings attached. Still struggling with interpersonal dynamics and crippled by shyness, Robison cannot fathom how this kind of instant, disposable relationship is possible.

“The version Ace played cost almost a thousand dollars. And here he was, telling his roadie to call them, and they’d ship me one, overnight, just like that. In the music world, that’s what power and fame did.”

Robison gets his first taste of how money and status buy influence. When he agrees to design an exploding guitar for KISS guitarist Ace Frehley, he requests a spare model, but Frehley sends him a top-of-the-line Gibson Les Paul without batting an eye. Growing up in the middle-class world of academia, Robison is unaccustomed to the extravagance of rock superstardom. He soon adapts to the high-flying lifestyle, spending excessively and charging everything to the band.

“Nice people like them buy children like him and raise them as pets.” 

When Robison flies his younger brother out to Cleveland to join him on the KISS tour, he tells Chris the closest shopping mall is across Lake Erie in Detroit. Determined to shop for new clothes, 14-year-old Chris approaches strangers asking for directions to the ferry to Detroit. Robison observes him talking to a “sweet, middle-aged couple” (149). His description of them implies a darkly cynical view of people and the world. He cannot envision healthy, loving parent/child relationships, only dominant/submissive ones.

“I knew everything there was to know about lighting the dance floor and lighting the people, but the people themselves remained a mystery to me.” 

Robison precisely articulates his preference for the inanimate over the animate. As a sound and lighting designer, he creates optimal environments for discos and music clubs, but observing the people within those environments makes him feel like an alien. The same disconnect he experiences on tour with Fat and KISS resurfaces in his new career, reminding him that he is the perpetual outsider.

“People like that might not make good engineers, but they often go far life because interpersonal skill is one of the most important predictors of success.”

In describing the autism continuum Robison places himself somewhere in the middle: He tends to focus his mind inward but can still relate to people to some degree. As an engineer, Robison is known for his creative problem-solving skills, and he is happy tackling problems. When he is promoted to management, however, he lacks the people skills to succeed. He bemoans that the corporate world values creative people less than managers whose job is “getting others to do your work for you” (199).

“My life has been filled with lost chances because I didn’t fit in.” 

As Robison looks back on his life, he laments lost opportunities. He cites a potential job with Lucasfilm as a prime example, a job that would have perfectly suited his creative talents. Although he admits that he is happier than he’s ever been, he finds it difficult to not play the “what if” game: What if I had gone on that job interview? What if I had been diagnosed earlier? What if my childhood hadn’t been so abusive? Ultimately, he reconciles with his past and accepts his life as it is.