Laughing in the face of trauma

The Cosmic Joke: Finding Humor in Hell

How I Laugh My Way to Healing

Image by author using Adobe Express

I had a PTSD response this morning. A benign occurrence had snapped me back to being an eight-year-old boy. The scene was vivid — with color and movement. I could feel this man’s strong hands gripping my arm and pulling me back to that place of my perpetrator’s punishment. I could hear myself screaming to the stranger across the street for help. I could see her pausing to witness me fighting to free myself. At that moment this morning — I watched as she walked away, seeing me pulled back into darkness and pain.

Tears streamed down my face. Then. Now.

I still struggle with so much of that event. So many questions. But the one question that lingers the most in my mind is:

Why did he have to be so well-endowed?

Now, if I were on stage using this in my comedy, I’d play with the idea of being hyper-focused on the paradox of why my abuser couldn’t have had a micropenis. But I’m not going to do that here. I have a greater purpose: to let you know that the universe has your back.

The Journey from Tissue to Superman

Many tragedies occurred during my years-long torture: the loss of my childlike wonder and innocence, the realization that I asked for help, and no one came. I was like tissue: used and discarded.

There was no Superman.

I needed a Superman. For that to happen, I had to become Superman.

This was not an overnight occurrence. I had to spend another thirty years writing my origin story. My journey was a peculiar one:

- Childhood trauma
- Unmet needs
- Acceptance to my desired university
- Joining the Marine Corps instead
- Becoming a preacher in seminary
- Finding out my allegiance was to a cult
- A broken marriage
- A foreclosed home
- A layoff, two car repossessions, and a bankruptcy