Expunged Records

Metaphorical Narrative

Imagine opening a cabinet you never asked to own. Inside are thick medical files with your name scribbled across them. Each one describes a diagnosis you never consented to: unsafe exposure, delayed relief, fake virtue, stolen thirst.

One file even insists your throat must dry before you speak, your stomach must twist before you rest. None of this came from you — yet the body believed the stamped notes as law.

You lift a file. The paper is brittle, already crumbling. A match touches the corner. Flame devours the false report. Page after page turns to ash. The cabinet empties. No authority left. The records are expunged.

Core Insight

Somatic distress hijacks often feel like binding medical truth. But they are old fraudulent files written by oppression — not by you.

The truth:

• Safety is not conditional.
• Needs are not delayed.
• The throat does not wait for permission.
• Privacy is natural, not earned.

When the records are burned, the hijack collapses. There is nothing left to enforce it.

Saturday Experiment

1. Spot the file. When the throat dries or stomach tenses, say: “This is an old record.”
2. Expunge it. Imagine stamping it: INVALIDATED.
3. Burn it. Breathe deep, picture the cabinet emptying into flame.

Notice how the body softens when it realizes the file is fake.

Sunday Reflection

Write in third person:

• Which “records” did he/she find written without consent?
• How does the body feel once a file is burned?
• If no old diagnosis exists, how freely can he/she breathe, drink, and move?

The body carries only the records you approve. All others are expunged.

🗄️🔥