The Aspie Experience

The room is white with large doors on the left and right. Towards the back, there is a desk, a computer, a telephone and a chair. When you enter, you will sit at the desk and be given a series of tasks to complete.


The first is simple. Dial a phone number and carry on a ten minute conversation. What you discuss is not important. Talk about the weather, if you want to. Just pick up the phone and begin.

As soon as you begin your conversation, several people will enter the room from the left and right doors and they will begin to converse with one another around you. As many people do, they will move about and gesture within your line of sight as they talk amongst themselves. Because you are not an Aspie, you may be able to ignore them – to tune out their voices.

To ensure that you get the full Aspie experience, the people will make certain you can’t ignore them. They will ask you questions and poke you and invade your personal space as you attempt to complete your phone call. You may notice that is becoming progressively more difficult to listen to what the person on the other end of the line is saying. They may become impatient with you asking them to repeat what they’ve said several times.

Once the ten minute phone call is over, the exercise will be repeated. This time you will attempt to carry on a conversation with a person in front of you instead of on the phone. In addition to the multiple conversations around you, there will also be four televisions (one on each wall) turned up quite loud, each with a different program showing.

When this is over, you will be quizzed on the things discussed both in the phone and face to face conversation. It is likely that you will remember very little having been so distracted during both.

When this section is complete, we will move on to a different task. You will be given a series of basic puzzles to solve on the computer. Each has a time limit and will require intense focus to complete. Once the timer begins, you will experience the same distractions as before: loud conversations, questions, being touched, televisions, and so on.

The final test requires nothing from you but to remain calm and relaxed. The furniture will be removed from the room, but the other elements will remain. There will be additional people crowding the room and jostling you as they interact with one another. Music will be piped in over the voices and televisions and multi-colored strobe lights will go off intermittently. Other sounds, such as crying babies, cellphone ringers and barking dogs will add to the cacophony. Various smells will waft by – perfumes, cooking food, trash, etc. You will also be wearing an itchy sweater while the temperature in the room is increased. How long can you keep your cool?

I’ll be waiting for you on the other side. Maybe now you’ll have a little more empathy for me.

Things You Should Know

You should know I’m not stuck up. I have overwhelming social anxiety that makes it difficult for me to be around people and I don’t know how to make small talk. A simple, “Hi, how are you,” can cause me enormous stress if I’m not ready for it.


You should know that my mood swings don’t mean I’m crazy. I just have a lower melting point than most people. It takes very little to overwhelm me. My arthritis makes it worse. Being tired and in pain on top of all the other sensory attacks makes me even more vulnerable.

You should know that it isn’t personal when I turn down your invitations to socialize. It’s not that I don’t like you; I just don’t have the capacity to function in the typical “Hey, let’s catch up over drinks,” situation. Parties are even harder to deal with. Just know that you can always talk to me online. I’m more comfortable in cyberspace than I am in the “real world”.

You should know that simply trying harder won’t change anything. It doesn’t matter how much I want to be cool and friendly and popular, because those things aren’t me. I’m learning to like myself the way I am, quirks and all.

You should know that I care about whatever you may be going through. I don’t always have the words to express it and I may even seem to pull away from you when you’re suffering. Sometimes the empathy I feel for you becomes more than I can handle and I withdraw into myself. When you hurt, I hurt and sometimes it’s too much for me.

You should know that I’m just like you. I want to be loved and I want to be happy. I want to enjoy my life and to be accepted as I am. Most of all, I want to be understood.

9/11 Reactions From an Aspie

With the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks approaching, there is little one can do to avoid the onslaught of stories, new and old, from survivors and witnesses. With empathy, as it relates to Autism, being on my mind lately, I can’t help but look at what happened that day and in the years that followed and wonder how anyone could think that people like me are incapable of empathy.


Like most people, I remember vividly where I was that morning. At the time, I shared an office with another employee, who insisted on listening to a radio station I hated. The morning show was particularly annoying to me and I did my best to tune it out. For some reason though, on that morning, I was the one who heard the words “fire” and “World Trade Center” and turned up the radio.

The news was sketchy at the start of it all. First we heard it was a fire that had broken out. Then that a “small plane” had hit the north tower. Then that it was a commercial plane that had crashed by accident. We turned on the news in the conference room. Then the south tower was hit and, with it, came the realization that this was no accident. We were under attack.

Soon the news came in about the Pentagon and flight 93 in Pennsylvania. We watched in silence as the south tower collapsed. I think I was the first to speak, though I can’t be sure. My own voice sounded foreign to me as I said, “Oh my God. There’s no way they got everyone out in time.” I don’t remember saying anything else.

Once the north tower collapsed, the news was all words and pictures of the devastation. I couldn’t watch any longer. The images of fire and smoke and ash and the tear-streaked faces of witnesses were too much for me. I felt the overwhelming need to make myself useful, so I fixed a toilet in the ladies room that hadn’t been working.

The rest of the day was a blur. My office is on Walt Disney World property and there was fear that Disney might be a target. We stayed open, but business came to a halt. No one was calling or coming in. They were, like us, glued to the news reports. I wanted to go home.

I went to my mother’s house that night. We ate ice cream and watched the President’s address. I bought two new pairs of shoes that weekend. I moved out of my apartment and lost my job a month later. By Christmas I was still unemployed. In January, I was rehired. I moved again in March. In November, my niece was born and my mother got engaged. Life went on.

Now, ten years later, I still cry reading the stories of the victims and survivors, the heroes who sacrificed themselves, the search dogs who kept looking despite their exhaustion, the children who lost their parents and the parents who lost their children. I find myself full of sadness, pride and wonder when I think of Todd Beamer and the words, “Let’s roll.” Though I know no one who died that day, I grieve.

I also struggle with anger towards people who insist that, because of a few extremists, all Muslim people must be violent and bent on the destruction of all other cultures and religions. This is no truer than saying all Roman Catholics want to kill Muslims, Greek Orthodox Christians and Pagans because of what happened in The Crusades or that all Fundamentalist Christians want to bomb abortion clinics because people like David Leach tell them to. I despise people who refuse to look at an individual person’s actions, but instead lump them all into a group.

We on the spectrum are often misunderstood in this way. We may not express ourselves in a way that is perceived as “normal”, but this does not mean that we don’t feel. When you’re watching the 9/11 memorial dedication this weekend, know that I’m watching too and that my heart aches for the lives lost just like yours.

Autism, Empathy and “Reality” TV

For the life of me, I can’t understand the point of most so-called reality shows. Some of them, sure. I like So You Think You Can Dance. I used to like American Idol, before it became the same tired shit over and over again. What I hate and can’t wrap my mind around are the shows that seem to be all about people being awful to each other. You’ve got all the backstabbing and game playing on shows like The Bachelor and Survivor, which I can’t stand, but at least there’s an endgame. Those make a little bit of sense to me.


And then there are the others. Bad Girls Club, Jersey Shore, Real World, Real Housewives, Bridezillas, Toddlers and Tiaras, Dance Moms – the list goes on and on. When I watch these shows, I get so worked up and upset and I have never understood why I am so bothered by something that other people find entertaining. Upon learning about my place on the spectrum and the supposed lack of empathy the “experts” said I should feel, I was even more confused.

Guess what? I feel empathy. I feel it so strongly that it is overwhelming. The experts are wrong. (I’m not the only one who feels this way…visit www.autismandempathy.com to read about others like me.) Because of this, watching a television show that is driven by the fact that people can be completely evil to one another is painful for me. It hurts me. I’d much rather watch something like Extreme Makeover: Home Edition or My Fair Wedding. Show me people being kind. Show me there is good in the world. Show me that the human race isn’t doomed to destroy itself. Show me hope. Show me love.

Understanding Why I've Never Understood the Things I Don't Understand

Since my diagnosis, I sometimes feel like Alice after falling down the rabbit hole. The world around me looks so different. It is all too big, too loud, too bright, too everything. I’m chasing my own white rabbit, knowledge about living with Asperger’s, while seeking guidance from my therapist, the caterpillar. My fellow Aspies, diagnosed much earlier than I, are happily enjoying their tea party, content in the ways that they differ from the rest of the world. At the same time, I fear society, or the Queen of Hearts and her court, judging my differences and declaring that it must be off with my head. Like Alice and the “Eat Me”/“Drink Me” potions, I am constantly adjusting to fit my new world, not knowing what the end result will be or if I will find myself “going out altogether, like a candle.”

There are so many things I’ve never understood. What’s more, I’ve never understood exactly why I don’t understand. At least now I’m gaining some understanding about my lack of understanding. Things are very black and white for me, very logical. If you and I have a misunderstanding that leads to an argument, I feel like we should explain our positions, clear up the misunderstanding and end the argument. I don’t understand the need to keep talking about how we felt because we’ve already established that it was all just an error in communication. If I see a clear solution to a problem you have, I want you to take action and solve it, not talk about how the problem makes you feel.

This is not to say I am incapable of empathy. On the contrary, I feel enormous empathy. Perhaps too much, on occasion. My problem comes in expressing it. If you are hurting and there is no clear way to fix it, then I hurt for you. I just don’t have the capacity to give voice to that feeling. I have learned to say, “I’m sorry you’re hurting and I wish I knew how to help.” but that is rarely enough to make the point that I really, truly do care about what you’re going through.

I know I’m not the only one making adjustments and learning new things. I am accepting that this is permanent, because it is who I am. I am the Mad Aspie. Pass the hookah and pour me a cup of tea. I’m not leaving Wonderland.