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Insanity - My Mad Life. Charles Bronson
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isbn 9781782192527
Автор произведения Charles Bronson
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство Ingram
This was my first encounter with a psychiatrist. I can still see his fat, spineless face and hear the shit coming out of his mouth. I had to see him over my problems at school. In those days, it was rare to see one of those people, but it was my first time and the record lives on … but truly what does it mean?
I learned at that early stage that these sorts of people are not from my planet; they think completely differently and live entirely differently, they may as well be from planet Zappa! They actually look down on the working class! They’re above us all, but over the years I’ve also learned that 80 per cent of these prats can’t even put their own lives in order; it’s a fact. What right-minded people can sit down listening to a lunatic all day, every day, year in and year out with no side-effects?
Anyway, this prick was a lesson to me, one to remember. I seriously thought about punching a hole in his fat face. As he spoke, I had visions of serious violence. Within ten minutes, this mutant made me feel dehumanised. What was he? God? What can he tell me that my dad can’t? I’ll tell you — dog shit. I should have punched him! Why not? Cunt!
Nowadays, the shrinks won’t see me unless I’m in chains or with a dozen screws in the room. All apart from my lovely Dr Ghosh. She’s just lovely to listen to. She came to see me at Whitemoor Prison, funnily enough, to see if I was sane (as I needed a report to say I’m sane to authorise a trust fund). She made a joke of it. ‘Charlie, it’s the first time I’ve had to come out of an asylum to do a report saying that you’re sane.’ She’s like that, a lovely lady. (OK, I’m sane and my trust fund is sorted.) If I had seen someone like Dr Ghosh thirty-plus years ago, maybe I’d not be like I am today!
I remember a shrink in Wandsworth Jail back in the ’70s. Now he was a really evil fucker, loved to juice you up using the liquid cosh, fucking done me up like a zombie, he did! I went to see him to chin the cunt, but I was so fucked up I could barely lift my arms up! He had me good and proper sorted!
That Dr Falk at headquarters was, in my opinion, a nasty bit of work, too. In the ’70s, he diagnosed me a psychopath. That label has stuck with me ever since! Well how am I supposed to get a decent job outside with ‘PSYCHO’ stamped all over my medical file? Would you employ me … would you? Would you fuck! A label sticks to you like shit to a blanket. I’m branded, I’m a marked man over all them reports. Nasty fuckers … it’s enough to turn a man to crime; well, a man’s got to make a living, hasn’t he?
You only have to look at our most famous doctor at the moment — Dr Harold Shipman. Need I say more? I fucking hate them all. I call them vets! And that’s an insult to vets! A very prominent doctor at Parkhurst Prison was one of the psychiatrists who certified me mad, but years later he had a breakdown and got caught in the local woods, naked, taking his dog for a walk. If you work in a pig farm, you smell of pigs; if you work in a jail, you smell of crime!
Just take my advice and stay away from psychiatrists — they’re dangerous. And if you’re 13 years old and sitting in front of one, do what I never did … chin him, ’cos if you don’t, you’ll live to regret it. You talk to your mum and dad (they know you best), and keep your problems in the family. Live and die with them.
Prison is riddled with madness and sadness. A young guy comes in weak; he gets hooked on heroin or smack, he sells his watch, radio and even his clothes. Then his arse gets sold; he sucks his life away for a bag of smack! One lad in Full Sutton came up to me. ‘Help me, Chas,’ he said with tears in his eyes. I took him into my cell, sat him down and he poured his heart out. He owed money, he had nothing, he was afraid. I went to see the ‘dealer’ and sorted it, but you can’t help, it just gets worse. Once hooked, they’re lost souls.
He kept sucking cock and taking it up the arse. That’s madness. The poor fucker was probably a nice lad when he came in, now he’s a faceless lost soul, going out a very bitter and hateful person who will kill for drugs. The system created it! The public will suffer … prison is madness, it creates what you fear — a nightmare! Well, it created me, didn’t it? I wasn’t born like I am! I had a lovely family; prison drove me over the edge! I’m not crying, I accept it, but the system never will.
Is Bronson mad? Let me ask you. How else can I be? I’m probably the maddest guy on two legs if the truth be known, but prison will never beat me. I’d sooner die today than allow it to! I once walked into a cell in Frankland Jail, some seven years ago, right into a party of eight cons (all heavies). I pulled out a glass bottle of pop; they all looked. I handed it to one and said, ‘Go on, use it on me!’
‘What?’
‘Hit me, any of you, hit me, smash it over my crust!’
No one did, so I did it myself! All looked, no sound, I walked out in peace, pissing blood and laughing … I felt free of madness. That’s mad! Nobody knows why it happens or how. But mad people live with it, day in, day out and, to some, it’s horror and pain, but to others it’s pleasure. My only sadness that day was that they never done it! Violence can be a release, a pleasure, it’s a form of being loved and wanted.
So if everything I’ve said is the definition of insanity, then the next thing is — how do you define an evil bastard? People can mix evil and insanity up, thinking both to be the one and self-same thing … wrong! Let me tell you about evil. First, you smell it; second, you feel it; third, you taste it; and finally, you need to destroy it.
If evil lingers around you, it will rub off on you; it will cause stress, anxiety and a lot of mental anguish! Eyes — you can see evil in the eye of the beholder! Body! Talk! Stance! Walk! Posture! Evil oozes out!
Ever see Moors murderer Ian Brady? Study his photos, study Black, study Cannon, study Sutcliffe — study them all! Who says evil is not recognisable?
Look at them mad bastards who go around shooting groups of innocent people; one guy in the USA shot seven dead around Christmas and a further ten were killed by a sniper … if that doesn’t resemble Bob Maudsley, then what does? The crazed eyes, out-of-this-world caveman look! That’s evil out of control!
Evil is there, out there and in your face! You have two choices — either run or fight! To run is to die a coward. To fight is to win. ‘Pleasure’ is destroying the evil bastards. Once I would have taken the biggest axe and used it on all of them. Now, though, I’m a little bit cleverer than that. If I was free, I would be fighting the MPs to change the law, to make it so you can check who is on the register and who isn’t. You deserve that from me, and so do they!
I’ve met ’em all — anyone who’s anyone. If I’ve not seen them then I’ve spoken to them from my cage window or through a pipe in the wall or through a door! Bear in mind, I’m a solitary man, but at times people see me being escorted through the jail, into the dentist or for exercise. They’ll chime out, ‘Hi, Chas.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s me, Mad Joe.’
‘Hi, Joe.’ I don’t know him, but it makes his day and that’s how it is with me.
Nowadays, I’m even harder to see … I’m a myth! Soon, I’m dead.
Insanity can be a heavy cross to bear; I mean, look at all those people in loony bins compared to those who are free and walking the streets – a tiny percentage are classed as mad. The incidence of mental problems is said to be rising, so what do they go and do? They cut the number of asylums by half! Whoever makes these decisions has to be a complete nutter!
How did madness start as an industry, employing millions of people around the world? Probably back in the days of the Egyptians when people were