Barry from Burrumbeet was surviving the identity disturbance and dissociation hole characteristic of Complex PTSD and worked a job. Barry from Burrumbeet had discovered the hard way that political hierarchies in their sunset phase were more wont than ever to preference organisational enablers over anyone competent in their job to be able to perceive the incompetence of managers. And therefore not wont to enable them.
The Inquisition and excommunication were swift and brutal. The job threw some weight on the stress pile and then suggested Barry from Burrumbeet go and get his head examined when they had to hear about it. They made sure everyone know he was crazy, had any number of deviant tendencies and was positively demonic to ensure no one would be around to assist Barry from Burrumbeet as he tried to exit the aforesaid stress disorder holes.
For a time, Barry from Burrumbeet was able to get temp work when one of the bell-ringers down at the local Anglican church was down with a dose of covid, which never went away in the end. It became the herpes of global neoliberal capitalism instead. And Barry from Burrumbeet didn’t even have to yank the rope because his head rang loudly enough to compensate.
Note **DELETE LATER**: Write separate piece about CPTSD cathedral trainspotters who stand around ancient ruins and let their own heads ring
One day at length, Barry from Burrumbeet said to himself: Hey, my head has stopped ringing. The fuck was with problematising reactions to disrespect and abuse, and then acting like setting off a stress trigger by rubbing salt on raw wounds was the attack on them they were perpetrating on me because being criticised or opposed and being attacked are the same thing as soon as anyone who makes the rules has to hold themselves to the same standards they expect everyone else to follow. Being told about harm you’ve done because it inflicts suffering is aggression when the right people benefit and pack wolves can enforce conformity to whatever reconstruction of harm as beneficial to victims suits their puppet masters to believe inside their just-world fantasy land this week.
I should go and reason with these people, Barry from Burrumbeet said to himself. I should patiently explain to pack wolves what about everything they’re doing is structurally violent, ethically vacant, lawless, unbalanced, cynical, hypocritical on a mission, manipulative on a mission, punitively sadistic, control-hungry, approval-thirsty and completely out of order but not woke. I’m sure they don’t already know. I’m sure everyone who isn’t directly affected but knows right from wrong will stand behind me like they know the value of social solidarity. Fuck knows I’m drilled with the fact that privilege means something isn’t a problem because it’s not a problem for you plenty on every other count other than clinical depression and stress disorder. Everything is going to work out. It’s all going to be okay.
Under severe and acute duress, best he could, Barry from Burrumbeet submitted a formal complaint.
