#broadmoor

“I know people are looking out for ‘nonverbal clues’ to my mental state,” Tony continued. “Psychiatrists love ‘nonverbal clues.’ They love to analyze body movements. But that’s really hard for the person who is trying to act sane. How do you sit in a sane way? How do you cross your legs in a sane way? And you know they’re really paying attention. So you get self-conscious. You try to smile in a sane way. But it’s just . . .” Tony paused. “It’s just . . . impossible.” I suddenly felt quite self-conscious about my own posture. Was I sitting like a journalist? Crossing my legs like a journalist? “So for a while you thought that being normal and polite would be your ticket out of here,” I said. “Right,” he replied. “I volunteered to weed the hospital garden. But they saw how well behaved I was, and decided it meant I could only behave well in the environment of a psychiatric hospital and it proved I was mad.” I glanced suspiciously at Tony. I instinctively didn’t believe him about this. It seemed too catch-22, too darkly-absurd-bynumbers. But later on Tony sent me his files and, sure enough, it was right there. “Tony is cheerful and friendly,” one report stated. “His detention in hospital is preventing deterioration of his condition.”