LITMIR.BIZ

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illness — voices, delusions, dangerous, unpredictable. Treated with strong tranquillisers.

      HYSTERIA

      Loss of control, unacceptable behaviour; insanity takes over!

      PYROMANIA

      Fire freaks — they get a buzz out of setting fire to buildings. They’re dangerous, as one match can burn to death a lot of innocent people. Treatment: lock them away in asylums (with no matches).

      DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR

      They imagine they’re somebody else. I’ve met the Pope, Jesus, Hitler, Hercules, John Lennon — they’re all alive in the asylums. Some will become violent if you don’t believe who they are! These madmen bring a bit of character to the asylums. They brighten the place up.

      EPILEPSY

      In the years gone by, asylums were full of epileptics. It wasn’t ’til the early 1950s that it was established by the medical journals as being a physical illness, and not mental. But sadly, even today, epileptics are still in asylums such as Rampton and Broadmoor. Obviously, they’re the criminal element. But I’ve witnessed epileptics having fits and they’ve been treated as madman. It’s a fact, sad but true.

      So these asylums cater for every kind of insanity. But, bear in mind — we are all criminals … in our own ways. My crime was armed robbery, but I was turned into a madman whilst serving a prison sentence. I became violent and difficult to control. I was created by a very brutal system which meets violence with violence. I became what I am today. I’ll now die with the label ‘mad dog’.

      A doctor once told me in Broadmoor something I’ve never forgotten: ‘We only take the best here, and you’re the best.’

      I often think about this, and what he said was true. And it doesn’t just go for Broadmoor, it goes for any of the secure asylums. Once you’ve been certified criminally mad, it’s never forgotten. How can they afford to forget — police, doctors, probation officers, social services, courts, prisons and, of course, not forgetting the public? Ask anybody — would you want an ex-madman living next door? It’s difficult enough being an ex-convict. It’s doubly hard for us ‘madmen’. Believe it.

      Nowadays, when the police come for me, it’s with guns! One false move from me and I’m dead. They come for me with instructions to shoot. They know it; I know it. It’s a miracle I’m still alive today. On their part, it’s fear of the unknown.

      They ask themselves: ‘What will he do?’ ‘How will he react?’ ‘Will he go mad?’ ‘Will he bite?’ ‘Will he be armed?’ They’re pumped up with fear. Adrenalin pumping, fingers tense on the trigger, brains racing. And I’m cool as a cat! The name ‘Charles Bronson’ causes panic! The name ‘Mickey Peterson’ causes stress! The police all love to arrest me, as I’m the most exciting madman they will ever bring in! It’s a fact. So here I am, years later, and I’m still the madman.

      There is no escaping my past:

       I’ve left behind a trail of havoc, destruction and violence that will never be forgotten! The Home Office must really be fed up with my name. ‘Oh no, not Bronson again.’

       I’ve destroyed TV sets, furniture, sinks, toilets, offices, cells and roofs!

       I’ve punched more prison officers than any convict I know!

       I’ve attempted to kill two madmen by strangulation!

       I’ve spent years and years in solitary confinement!

       I’ve taken more hostages than Saddam Hussein!

       I’ve attacked prison governors!

       I’ve been on eight prison roofs!

       I’ve cut a prison officer!

      And all for what? All for a label of madness. I’ve achieved absolutely fuck all … just a ‘mad dog’ tag.

      Looking back at the years I spent in the asylums, I’m now convinced some of that insanity rubbed off on to me. And I’m also convinced my ending will be a police ambush. They will shoot me dead. It’s a fact of life!

      I’m actually lucky to be alive today. Way back on 25 February 1993, I had a dozen police marksmen aiming at my head — from my point of view, not a nice sight. Fortunately, I was with somebody, otherwise I believe they would have shot me dead. It’s a fact of life, which I’ve come to accept!

      I have received a raw deal just like Michael Peterson from Durham County in North Carolina, USA. Some would say I’ve dug my own grave. Some would say, ‘Shoot the nutcase.’ Say what you will, but I say, ‘It takes two to tango.’

      Mad people are very emotionally orientated! They have complex feelings, they’re easily upset, but are also easy to please! Most mad people have lonely lives, as nobody understands them. So they become ‘lost souls’. They dream a lot, go within their minds to search — some will turn strange and become dangerous. So a madman is created. His world becomes a mission. Bear in mind, every madman was once a lovely, innocent baby; every mother’s little angel. Man was not born to be shot down like a ‘mad dog’. All mad dogs end up in a pool of blood, or a cage for life. Either ending is a disaster; a waste of life. It wasn’t worth being born!

      DEAD EYES

      I’ve watched the old men in the asylums. Men of 70, even 80, who have been locked away all their lives. I’ve even seen them die, go to sleep in a chair and never wake up. They arrived 40-odd years before in a straitjacket, and left in a body bag. They only ever knew one life — madness.

      But when these madmen get to a certain stage, their eyes go dead. There is no more sunshine, no more to see, just memories in a cage. Forgotten men. They’re just waiting to die.

      There is a hell before they arrive. I’ve spoken to these old men. I’ve tried to understand them, but they’re too far gone. Their eyes say it all. It’s a bit like looking into a hole in the earth … emptiness!

      I’ve always said to myself, over and over, ‘Don’t end up this way.’ Well, I’ve spent nearly two-and-a-half decades behind closed doors and nearly three decades behind bars — I’m still in a fucking cage! So I had better be careful. I don’t want dead eyes — the bullet would be better.

      I personally could never come to terms with my label of ‘Criminally Insane’. Just because of my violent outbursts in prison, it doesn’t mean to say I’m mad. Obviously I had become a disruptive element within the penal system. Uncontrollable! Unpredictable! But that doesn’t make me insane!

      I’ll go as far as admitting I had problems, severe psychological problems. The reason for this was that my prison life had become a war. I felt every day was a struggle, so violence was inevitable! It was the only way to get myself heard. One doctor once told me I was a victim of my own notoriety. Prison officers saw me as a threat, so they made my life hell. And, basically, that’s what pushed me over the edge.

      I survived every sort of punishment and, in the end, there was no more, only to be certified mad. The asylums really opened my eyes. They had a strange effect on my personality. As the years rolled by, would you believe, I became a more compassionate man. For example, in prison I would punch a con’s face in if he had killed his wife or mother, but I soon realised they were very sick people. Asylums are full of tragic cases. Some of these guys killed their whole families while in a depressed state.

      I’ve seen them live with the memory, year after year. Smashing their heads into walls, cutting their throats, screaming in their sleep. They live on in horror, in a ‘drug haze’. Yeah,

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