Lately I’ve been reflecting on the nature of compulsion — how the body can drive us toward destructive relief, even when the cost is high.

This post is not written as a statement of fact, nor as a denial of anyone’s lived experience. It is an exploration. I’m asking questions shaped by my own history of trauma and compulsion, and wondering whether neuroplasticity might hold insights that could ease suffering in conditions such as Body Integrity Dysphoria.

I don’t have BID, and I cannot know what it is like to live with it. What I do know is the torment of a compulsion so strong that it once cost me stability, relationships, and safety — until I began to understand what was happening in my nervous system.

This blog is an attempt to reflect, to wonder aloud, and to invite dialogue — perhaps even from neuroscientists, therapists or others who can bring further light to the questions I raise.

“Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”

That’s the only way I can describe the compulsion that once ruled my life. I could not stay where I was. Every cell in my body pulled me towards running, my mind ached with intensity, and the pain of trying to restrain myself became unbearable. Eventually, I always had to go.

It wasn’t adventure or choice. It was torment. I traded stability, relationships, and belonging for the fleeting relief of escape. Over time, this became my pattern: moving house after house, address after address, place to place — over 50 in total. Running felt like the only way to survive.

The Destructive Nature of Compulsion

Watching the BBC documentary Complete Obsession (2000), which looked at Body Integrity Dysphoria (BID), I recognised something hauntingly familiar. People spoke of the unbearable desire to remove a healthy limb — not as preference or fantasy, but as an inescapable compulsion.

I need to be clear here: I don’t have BID, and I don’t know what it means to live with that experience. I’m not claiming my story is the same. What I do know is what it felt like to live with my own destructive compulsion — and in hearing the voices of those in the documentary, I sensed an echo of that torment.

For them, the promise of amputation seemed to offer relief from a lifelong burden. For me, moving again and again offered relief from the rising agony in my nervous system.

In both cases, the pattern appears similar:

  • Relief is found through self-destructive means.
  • The pain of resisting is worse than the cost of giving in.
  • Outsiders struggle to comprehend why someone would do this to themselves.

The question is why.

The Dilemma of Decision-Making Without Lived Experience

One of the things that troubles me most is how decisions are sometimes made about people without truly understanding what it feels like to be them.

  • How can someone who has never felt their body drag them relentlessly toward destruction — every cell screaming, every thought consumed — know what it means to live with that kind of compulsion?
  • How can anyone confidently label it a “disorder,” or decide that cutting away a healthy limb is the “solution,” without knowing the why behind it?

For me, the “why” was post-traumatic stress. My brain had misinterpreted everyday signals — a frown, a look, a disapproving sigh — as threats to life. That miswiring drove my entire body to run, no matter the cost.

Something has led to these compulsions in people with BID too. Until we understand what and how, we risk rushing to solutions that may quiet the symptom but miss the root.

My Why

For me, the answer was trauma. My nervous system had learned to interpret almost any sign of disapproval as a threat to life.

In those moments, my body reacted as though death was imminent. My heart raced, my muscles surged with energy, and my entire being screamed flee. This wasn’t drama. It was survival, as encoded by a traumatised brain.

Understanding this was key. Once I realised that my compulsion was not madness but a survival reflex, I could begin to work with it. By learning how my body held fear, and finding ways to calm and regulate it, I gradually built new neural connections.

It took time, patience, and repeated safe experience, but eventually the compulsion loosened its grip. I’ve now lived in the same place, in the same relationship for almost 10 years — something I once thought impossible.

The Hypothesis: Can Neuroplasticity Help?

This is where my story touches BID.

  • If my brain could rewire its survival circuitry over time…
  • Could the same be true for those whose brains misfire around body ownership?
  • Could neuroplasticity — the brain’s lifelong ability to change — offer healthier options beyond the drastic relief of self-harm?

I don’t claim to know the answer. I don’t know if my experience is even comparable. What I am doing is asking the question.

Because my experience makes me wonder: if neuroplasticity could help a traumatised brain loosen the chains of compulsion, might it also help a brain that misrepresents its own body?

An Open Question

I ask this not to minimise or convert, but to explore. What’s happening in the minds, brains, and bodies of people with BID? Could understanding neuroplasticity one day open safer, more compassionate ways of easing their suffering?

For me, compulsion nearly destroyed my life. Learning about my nervous system gave me another option. Perhaps — just perhaps — the same principle could offer hope in places where relief currently comes only at great cost.

Reference: Horizon: Complete Obsession (BBC, 2000).
Body Integrity Dysphoria – Wikipedia overview

Watch the video here 👇
http://ok.ru/video/281953962725