We are voiding. My name is ————————Ophelia. I’m just still legally Daphne and that is what it is. I was debating it as a pen name but it’s not.
This site is getting nuked for a WordPress—hold my beer. I threw some stuff up on Medium but that’s not really it. I’ll probably just spam stuff there in blind hope. Substack days are numbered for me though. The ability to make my own space with WordPress is enticing and I’m going to make reading a book on your phone make a lot more sense.
My mind is changing and it’s not a gimmick. This writing is making me different. I’m not going to project anymore and think what happens to me while writing happens to others when reading, or there’s anything other than my best projections of guesses everywhere throughout in regard to other people. My sense in the past of having been psychic is muddled in knowing that I’m smart and I must get stuff right sometimes. It was an exploration of what is going on inside me. I’ve got it sorted as best I can for now.
Firstly, I have a creative space inside me not unlike Illith, from Justiceers, a sentient spaceship which creates with data it has. I do feel things which are undeniably outside of myself. It’s hard to understand. I project everything into the blankness of that feeling. I make up stories to explain whatever I don’t understand within it, which is everything. For two reasons — one, I don’t get how other people think at all, and I feel differently than most too. Secondly, there are occasional receivings which are beyond me. That’s all. I see stuff that comes in vision or splashes of foresight which simply eclipses my ability to understand it as subconscious—words which I’ve never heard that are perfect. I wouldn’t be surprised to be wrong. I often am, the subconscious is unknowably powerful thing. But I am honest about what the best understanding of what I’m going through is and genuinely believe from spiritual experiences in some sort of superconscious we might tap into outside of our little container.
I am a creative scientist. My usage of plant medicines has grounded. I stopped with most everything a long time ago. I use marijuana and it’s too often. It will be coming out of the rotation entirely—it’s the problem. The way it works with how my brain has unlocked to the subconscious is unhelpful. Everything else is gone too, except for my tobacco friend for grounding. That is helpful.
My writing has been giving me panic attacks because of the things which come out of my subconscious while I’m writing them. It’s scary. I’m seeking relationships with people who can be close and affectionate with me to spur the healing I need of all the emotional trauma I carry in my body.
My mind is not going back in the box. The box is broken.
In the past I would try and divine things as untrue or true through divination in my writing. I was very confused. I was judging my own projections into that space—reflections of my guess at emotion and the imagined thoughts or words of those people created through impulses borne from writing—then presuming some misunderstood emotional reflection in that space as confirmation and assuming my own shit was about other people being felt back as true in the future.
There was a reason my subconscious had been writing about wanting a Judge. I could have handled this information at any time from the right person or kind of person. Someone I respected who wouldn’t belittle me or presume to know things they couldn’t. Everyone seems to fail at that—including myself.
The second half of this book is going to complete the coolest fucking panic attack of a book ever written—and once its edited and published and understood it will be known as the best.
