Why does the idea of my physical body incurring damage of any sort, cause such duress and innate fear that overwhelms me, almost to a point of dysfunction?

After 17 years of being a person with self-induced, voluntary, existential pursuit of knowledge and tangible facts, regarding OUD (Opiate Use Disorder); you tend to reevaluate what matters more to (You) in life, especially when facing your own mortality. Yes, you are reading that correctly, I genuinely wanted to confront the afterlife, dreams, lucidity, and self-experimental urges without any guilt to keep my conscience clear.

Yet, when I feel the sensation, (whether being actual or remotely fabricated), of my body sustaining damages of a quite abrupt pain signal. However, when attempting to investigate the origin of the attack, and to assess the wrecked tissues of flesh; the marks and bruises are lacking locality… Nothing to see (t)here! After a constant 4+ years of querying the internet, and logging the results, I've come to the conclusion that the answers I seek, wish not to be sought after. As if the websites and research documents are somehow filtered automatically, in order to specifically and in my opinion, with discriminatory bias; prevent me from being able to assemble a cohesive argument in black & white.

Maybe I'll get a clue, spontaneously, after the search engine takes mercy on me, which will inevitably lead to a tangential pursuit that distracts me in just the right method; as to scheme up a planned agenda that steals my brain power and study time. Anything to keep the facts about this potentially irreversible violence of a situation, difficult to attain and adhere to in memorandum.

I didn't protect and upkeep this shamanic ritualistic mating-getup; also not to mention, my hermetic temple, my mystic body, my spiritual frame, my ascension chariot, my integrated tool of physical sensuality, and all of the other crucial aspects to my being, which I now refer to as my mind/body/spirit complex of co-creative Christ consciousness; to just casually and nonchalantly turn a blind eye towards.

What doIget for being the one whom reaches out in spite of the inescapable brouhaha?

A sure fire guarantee that deceitfully promises a faux sense of well being, whilst instead in all of our cooperatively glorious actuality, accrues a piling heap of pusillanimous failures that are like splinters that never get plucked and simultaneously all over the place… somehow?

tl;dr - When freaky & pantywaist, anti-consensual acts of physical torment with a vindictively personal prerogative; of which makes it self known at the most irritating, bare minimum, of notability.

A subordinate, stupid, and sick maladroit of coquetry; is fucking with me, on purpose, in order to screw up and ostracize my God-given exhibit of biological divinity. (My sweet, hot, banging ass 'bodi.')

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