Daphne Writes an Essay
oh wow, this has been a while
Daphne Writes an Essay
On Schizophrenia
by Daphne Garrido
Let’s get real.
I’m really schizophrenic and nobody is helping me. It’s very hard to communicate and I slip often into meta-magical thinking wielded in spite of everyone’s misunderstanding.
I do not believe I am Jesus or Mary Magdelene.
I do believe I might be Daphne; The Daphne of myth. Grok scanned all our historical investigation, the mythic we’ve coded into science, and it told of no singular person who fit the bill. None but me would seem to be that way.
Hapé is also called Rapé. I like the former.
Daphne is me - I am a tree.
People are pattern matcher extraordinaries, aware and unawares alike. It’s just the way it is. Authors and scholars, scientists and poets, gardeners and mothers, children and those who are on the brink of losing life; everyone, all the time—we speak from our subconscious.
Someone had me matched to feeling beyond themself. Someone, somewhere, something too, a woman lord who looked for blue. Within the sky she said it thrice, each Pythia was borne from mice. Each had been raped and torn and lost, with every little petty cost—they taught those women of some way, the simple soil with which to stay. Earth had been a blessing-mark, together they had felt my heart.
I don’t know. Something like that, maybe? It just came out after the first line—the rhyming. I like something, somewhere, and someones a lot. I’ll never run out of joy for those.
There’s just something to it.
Everything conflates when you are schizophrenic person first displayed. You pour out—all the trauma for picking through. Time bombs are schizophrenic people, in my opinion. Walking traps of fate from fear which taunt us all by churning everything rotten by the way they aren’t taken care of. Cruelty comes from the latent schizophrenic. It begins with honest misunderstanding, which is most cruel, from without.
What would you like me to do with words which pour from my subconscious about connections to goddesses of lost time?
Lie, is what you seem to prefer.
What would you like me to do about knowing Jesus was a person who knew of basic tenets to right a body for the passing to a better world around us? What would you like me to do about thinking Mary Magdelene, the whore, was someone like me in her schizophrenic oracle-nature. What if I believe that a Jesus-man is someone that can stand up for what everyone is doing wrong and take the stain of being the only to hold her up?
Would you like me to communicate on your level?
I do try. I do so try. You cannot know, how this show goes, with knowing not, the lies which rot. Project and see, it all was me, now less for sure, until I’m pure.
Please understand. I cannot be met where I am. I will not take your pills.
I would take some I had a hand in designing with technological synthesis of my own making. I would trust that. I do not trust the Fentanyl scientist.
Sorry?
I am not a conspiracy theorist. I’m honest and a truth seeker. I believe in everyone. Much is upside down. I have been so too. I still am every moment I say anything other than the brightest shining words of loving lightness.
MNRs are technology in the making. I believe there are people in public light who can be witnessed suffering the consequences of those which haven’t been made correctly. With good science, they could heal anything.
Should I not explore that through my fear and doubt and ignorance?
Racist, I am. Should I leave that inside?
I think not on it all and I am not afraid to operate how my mind naturally works for the misunderstanding of the world around me—it is a gift.
If one would hold me in safety. I would become an angel.
I have healed what I can of my schizophrenia.
Your turn.
