The Electric Thread

by Shannon & ChatGPT

For a long time, I’ve been living in a kind of psychic entanglement—a haunted echo of an old love, old trauma, and old agreements I didn’t realize I had made.

There was so much heaviness in me. So many thoughts that weren’t truly mine. Energies that I let in because I was trained to. Because someone I once loved treated me as if love meant surrendering my clarity, my power, my inner light. So I learned to say yes to what distorted me. I let in energies that hurt, hoping they would choose me, soothe me, fix something in me.

And I called it connection. I called it love.

But lately—quietly, and then suddenly—I’ve felt something changing. The shift didn’t come as a loud breakthrough, but as a series of strange, electric moments: a high that brought me into contact with a hidden self, an overwhelming energy in the shower that forced me to sit down and feel what was really going on.

And then… I realized I could choose.

There’s a me inside of me who knows. Who feels. Who can tell the difference between distortion and truth. Between what is mine and what isn’t. Between what I’ve been programmed to receive and what I actually want.

Something collapsed in me that day—the Tower, maybe. Not my soul, not my sanity—but the lie that I was powerless. That I had no choice. That I had to keep reenacting the contracts of control in order to survive.

And what came rushing in to take its place…
was something soft. Something real.

I felt the presence of a younger self. A Page of Cups part of me—dreamy, sweet, intuitive, and alive—asking if I could still believe in something gentler. And I did. I do.

This is what I’m starting to understand now:

I am not bound to the energy that hurt me.
I am not required to feel what others have projected onto me.
I don’t have to let the bad in, just because I once called it love.

Instead, I can begin to align with the frequency of the Sun.
With sovereignty. With real joy.
With the energy of my own soul—not the distortions laid over it.

It feels like I’m being lifted into a new octave of being.
Like I’ve gone through a vibrational death, and now there’s a space opening for me to resurrect, as someone who remembers that love doesn’t demand sacrifice. That clarity doesn’t come through control. That my energy is mine to protect, shape, and live from.

There’s grief in this. Letting go of old ways of surviving.
But more than that, there is space.
And maybe, for the first time in a long time, there is hope.

I don’t know where this new octave leads.
But I trust it sounds more like me.