The Parable of the “Shit Stick” and the “Train to Nowhere”
You might be fighting your own battles and trying to make sense of the chaos within. So far, I haven’t told you anything more than what it looks like to be impacted by PTSD. This book has been me having PTSD and putting a keyboard in front of my face.
To help illustrate the different forms of PTSD more clearly and intentionally, let me share with you the legend of the “shit stick” from ancient Rome.
In communal Roman latrines, people used a sponge on a stick to clean themselves. Now, imagine the horror if you were handed the wrong end of that stick.
For someone with Acute Stress Disorder (ASD), encountering the shit end of the stick is an unexpected and deeply distressing experience. It may leave them feeling shocked, sick, and overwhelmed, but with time and proper support, they might recover and move past the incident.
A person with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), having faced repeated exposure to trauma or just holding it a little too long, might avoid any situation reminiscent of that initial horror. They might steer clear of Roman bathrooms altogether, always wary of facing another shit stick. The trauma shapes their actions and reactions, leading to a life of avoidance and hyper-vigilance.
However, those with Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) have endured prolonged or repeated trauma, often, but not always, from caregivers or from within their community.
Imagine growing up in a world where the shit stick wasn’t just a one-time horror, but a tool used to beat and control you. These individuals not only face the trauma of the shit stick but also grapple with deeper, more ingrained issues.
Some may come to believe they deserve this treatment or that their role is to carry others’ shit sticks, burdened by a sense of worthlessness and perpetual obligation. Some assume a god has issued them these sticks and that there can be no life without them.
Getting handed that stick is a universal alarm. The curtains fall and all the wizards in Emerald City show their asses. You will see the world as a dream-thing. Something never what it’s described as. Never what it says on the box.
You’ve woken up from an awful dream to find yourself on a train about to speed off a collapsed bridge. That panic you feel from time to time, that’s just your mind catching up to that reality.
It’s a roller coaster out there, Babe—and it doesn’t end at a station.
Do you wake up the others when you have discovered this? Do you let them sleep there, bobbing their sleeping heads and snoring to themselves? Do you rush up and down the aisle shouting, “Wake up! Wake up! We’re about to crash!”
Do you sit down next to a sleeper and try to make sense of the shit they say in their sleep? Do you pretend the stuff they say makes sense and just tailor what you say to fit around it?
“Marshmallow guns!”
“Oh, that sounds exciting.”
“The Queen stole my favorite toe!”
“Oh, well maybe the marshmallow gun …”
Let them sleep. Find a spot with a view you like where you can stand the conversation and wait for the screams of other waking dreamers.
I’ve got dinner on. You go get them a blankie We’ll welcome the next passenger to our diner car on the Train to Nowhere.
