Entering the Asylum: Notes on Pretending

I've visited people in mental institutions and never found it difficult. Yes, such places can be objectively horrible—the smell, the baffling behavior, the eerie screaming in the distance—and I must find common ground with a friend in embarrassing circumstances. But I'm fine with all that, and can offer genuine friendliness and hope. I meet circumstances as they are; omnivorous when it comes to What's Happening.

When I visit similarly dysfunctional people in their homes, it doesn't go so well. I clock circumstances clearly, but am expected to ignore much of it and feign lovely normalcy. My job is to inhabit an alternative reality—or at least maintain the façade. "You're doing so great!"

Having spent my life deliberately dismantling my façades and finding easeful stance in What Is, I can have a perfectly smooth visit in a psychiatric hospital and lift a friend's mood, riding the truth with equanimity. But the tradeoff is that I've lost my falsehood chops. Saddle me with an obligation to pretend, and I'll grow so confused you might as well have me committed somewhere.