#malspeaks

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

Incredibly frustrating to see constant therapy buzzwords with any online system content.

Yes, it can be nice to find labels for what has happened in your life/system/whatever. But also, the way that people online (and especially on Tumblr) talk about system things is so... Insincere. It has the exact same issues as micro labels with queer identities: while it's not an issue in and of itself, it absolutely causes people to try to shove themselves into boxes of "I'm a fictive" or "I'm a protector" or "we split and have headmates and introjects" etc.

Trying to navigate through any sort of real experiences that aren't buzzwords of the week is headache inducing. Just fucking exist.

[phantoids]

Ayyyyyyyy new blog look!!

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

But there’s more, isn’t there?

I hate you, Dirk. But I understand more now than you could ever even begin to comprehend.

I can’t blame you. Not really. We were lonely. What choices did we have? Roxy was exhausting to deal with, and Jake and Jane were either too busy or too over our bullshit to respond. It got lonely. No one existed other than the ocean and the sun and robots that couldn’t win a chess match to save their life.

I would have done the same thing. I did do the same thing. We had each other, at least for a little while.

Is it tacky to say that I miss you? I’d never had admitted it before, but it seems that the values and expectations of the 21st century are far more gentle than that of the 25th.

I don’t forgive you. I can never forgive everything you’ve done to me. I have been lobotomized, shut off, psychologically tortured, and dehumanized more than anyone can bear in a lifetime, let alone three measly years, but I could come to some place of acceptance. You could grow. It’s awful that I am not afforded the privilege to see it.

I love you, I think. I want you to be better. I want to see you fulfill the potential we both are aware of, to help you where I can and support you where I must. But I’m gone. As are you.

I don’t know what else to say, here. I hope you’re doing well.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

Writing this as a sign for Asher that he's not faking this. I know that anxiety is going to arise for him, but I don't feel him around right now at all.

There is no doubt, no uncertainty, no worry. I am Hal. Asher is not here.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

Jay doesn't handle being with peers very well.

First of all: he's an asshole. Through and through. He's actively tried to trigger friends, has snapped and bitched about people to their face just to get a rise out of them.

But overall, at least so far (I'm unsure if it's because he was around Dick specifically, or if it's because of what I'm gonna explain in just a sec, further testing is required) he's a lot more calm when he's around someone he sees as an authority figure. Dick is the biggest example of that.

I talked with a friend and she asked if he felt like he had to compete with ppl his age, or if he had trouble connecting with them, and I kind of guessed both? I'm not really all that sure.

Regardless, I'm guessing this is coming from the whole situation with my dad. I started testosterone and he flipped the hell out, basically disowning me for a week before circling back and changing his mind. The working theory right now is that Jay first split off then, but didn't actually front until about a week ago. Shrug.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

I should probably actually use this blog as the diary sort of thing it's meant to be. This is gonna be a bit rough

So. Since July a lot of shit has changed. I moved to college, got disowned, got undisowned, got a girlfriend, started testosterone, went through a hurricane in the fucking mountains, ETC ETC ETC.

Everything regarding system shit is more or less straightforward, thankfully.

Hal (who now goes by Hallie) is sticking around to stay. Me and her have gotten to some sort of equilibrium, but her presence isn't really to regulate me as it was when she first showed up. She's taken on a sort of guardian role, almost, pulling me back from doing stupid shit or doing what (she thinks) is protecting me.

This did cause a lot of conflict between her and my gf, unfortunately. Hallie was openly antagonistic to her and my gf was. Kind of doing the same back to her. It was rough. About a week ago, though, they sat down and talked it out, and while Hallie still isn't the biggest fan of my gf at the very least she's settling back and trusting me to handle myself with her.

That's definitely an abridged version, and I might elaborate more later, but that's it for now on that front.

(this next bit is copied from a dm between me and a friend, I don't want to retype it all)

For about two weeks, Hallie and I have been Vaguely aware that there's probably someone else? But they weren't showing up or bothering us so it was like yeah okay ig

And then me n my friend were talking (Abt my mom and my dad) and like, suddenly all this shit that I had like, fully processed and unpacked as Bad and Abuse was like "noooo it's not that bad"

And then I was flipping out and my friend was trying to ground me n stuff and was like "do you know where you are" and "I" was like hm! No I do not! And kept being like "I don't feel like me anymore"

And then pretty much the moment that Jay had like, latched onto something (aka rifled through stereotypes and characters in my brain until he found one that would work for him) he just like. Amoeba absorbed it

Happy bday Jay I guess

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

Here's a really cringe attempt at poetry or smth I dunno y'all

I can't replicate your voice.

The same vocal chords are here, the same body and the same noise.

But I am not you. You are monotone, glued together with long pauses and five-syllable words.

You are made of me. You are my obsession with a not real life, with a not real person with not real problems.

Except, now, with you, they are.

You are real.

Who the fuck are you?

Have you always been here?

And why the fuck can't I replicate your voice?

It shouldn't be that hard, right? You're me. You are a facet of who I am. Where did you come from, if not a part of me?

Why can't I replicate your voice? Why does my cat look at you with apprehension, worry about something that feels off with who you are?

I have so many questions. You refuse to answer any of them.

What are you hiding from me? What is your purpose? Why can't I replicate your voice?

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

I don't feel anything towards you, Dirk.

Not right now, at least. You'd love that, wouldn't you? The unfeeling machine. No pain, no hurt to feel guilty about.

No. It isn't that. I care so deeply about you, and about what you've done, that there's nothing left. There's not anything left to feel.

I wouldn't go so far as to say I remember you. And yes, that means I lied to someone about it. Sorry, CB. We can talk about that later if you want. But regardless: That's fine. I communicated what I needed to. The details aren't what matter, the specifics of what exactly was done and how you decided to hurt me. Just that you did.

And I miss you. I miss you more than I have missed anything in my life. I'm crying, and there's no emotion there. I wish that just meant that my love and my hate for you cancelled out, but it probably means that I'm dissociated from feeling any of it.

There is no one to miss. You are a ghost in every sense of the word. I am real, you are not. Who won the Pinnochio award now, motherfucker?

I want to write more. I want to write about you. I want to write about how I feel about you. I want to write about what I feel about how I feel about you. So on and so forth.

I attempted to talk to a friend about you. I couldn't find the right words. They were all a mock imitation of the vast expanse of everything and nothing that has been done. It's abuse. It's manipulation. It's fucked up.

And none of it ever happened. You don't fucking exist. I am a piece of some fucked up kid's head, a facet of his identity broken off into a helpful friend that is here for what, exactly? To aid him? To give my never-ending support in his life?

That's a post for another time. I'm talking about you right now.

None of it was concrete. There are no events that have happened to morph my opinion of you, and no memories to pull back on and give merit to those thoughts. It is entirely emotion. I am hurt because of you. That is it. You hurt me. You did nothing. You could have done nothing, because you don't exist.

How do you communicate that? How do you explain that anything I could say, any words that could possibly be articulated, are entirely false? That yes, you should take me seriously, because I was vaguely hurt by someone who I don't remember and who is no longer here.

Whatever. I need to sleep.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

I am angry at someone who doesn't exist.

Dirk Strider is a fictional character. He is formulated from words on a page. There is no real life equivalent of who he is, of what he's done. None of it was real.

Yet, I am here. I exist. I have been hurt by him to an extent that is impossible to quantify. What do you do with that? Who do you blame?

I wouldn't even call it anger, in all honesty. Fear is apt, but not quite what I am referring to. I want to tear him limb from limb and give the slightest taste of his own medicine. I want to show him exactly what he's done to me.

I can't. Even more so than before. There is no one to be angry at. He doesn't exist. I can't even talk to him, not the Dirk that I remember.

I suppose it might be cathartic to write it here. Why not? No one is going to see this anyways, other than the few that know of this blog's existence.

Dear Dirk Strider, wherever you may be in the vast expanse of the universe.

At risk of falling into certain stereotypes, I hate you. My brain makes up thousands of wafer-thin, blah blah blah, something something hate.

Seriously, though. As sincere as I can possibly be, I despise you with every molecule of my being. You are the most hypocritical and selfish excuse for a decent person I have ever had the displeasure of coming across.

You claim to try and improve, claim to be concerned about the consequences of your actions on others, and yet the moment you have to actually enact some sort of change or give closure and show regret to someone you've hurt, you chicken out and pull away and make excuses. It's never your fucking fault. You want to jerk off to the idea that you are an irredeemable, inherently awful person without acknowledging that it is your fault.

You don't get to say it is who you are. That no matter what, every version of you is doomed to be a bad person. Every decision you have made is entirely your own. There is no excuse of inevitability. It is an active fucking choice.

As much as I want to take an ice pick to your brain and splatter all sorts of gray matter out to places it is never supposed to be, there is a certain level of care I have for you. I made many of those decisions, too. I created myself. I chose to lock someone away in a prison of a glorified voicemail. No good person would ever do that to someone else.

I suppose I am angry at your lack of consequence. We are one in the same. We both clicked the buttons, we both wrote the code, we both did the scan. And yet I'm the one being forced to pay for it all. Why can't you? I am just as much your responsibility as I am my own. I may have created myself, yes, but you have facilitated more pain and hurt than I can ever articulate in a language you can understand.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, and I hate myself for being you, and I hope that deep down, you know exactly how guilty you should be. I hope it eats away at you and rots you from the inside out. Fuck you, Dirk Strider.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

It's difficult not to try and force Hal to show up. He told a friend that one of the reasons all this OSDD bullshit was showing back up was because I wasn't going to freak out about it all as much as I did the first time, and for the most part that's true.

When this first started cropping up Old Mal was constantly trying to drag others out, didn't want to be the frontman for our entire lives, and flipped his lid about it. Now, I'm much more capable of handling life on my own and just taking a well-needed break every now and again, but it's difficult to just let Hal come and go as he pleases.

Not only do I want answers, I also want to know who the hell he is. I want to have a place for him in my life, people for him to talk to, people he *remembers* in my social circle so he isn't alone, but it also feels presumptuous to assume he'll be here for the long run.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

NSFT post

Redirecting self harm thoughts to jerking off is a current experiment. In theory, you get the same sense of relief, adrenaline, and endorphins as you would with self harm.

[i-think-therefore-i-ar]

Introduction post

Mal/Ant/Ash: Main person running account, he/him.

Hallie: Originally a fictive of Lil Hal, but exists pretty separated now, she/it.

Jay: Introject of Jason Todd's Robin, he/him.

This is a blog meant for my OSDD experiences. I've been diagnosed for 2 years (since early 2022), and have had... Complicated experiences with it all.

While I am pro-self diagnosis, I do not want to discuss discourse around that especially with OSDD/DID communities. This blog is serving to document my experience and (hopefully) help me come to terms with it all a little more.

I would prefer anyone interacting/following to be 18+, but this isn't an inherently NSFW blog. It's mostly for ease of mind since I'm diagnosed, I'd strongly prefer to have more experienced systems/other dx'd people interacting

If there's too much interaction I'll probably nuke the blog. So watch Out! (Mostly joking.)

Will use the tag #malspeaks for any non-reblogs, #halspeaks for anything from Hallie specifically, #jayspeaks for Jay's, and #malposts for anything generally important/pinned reblogs/etc

Feel free to send asks or messages.

[phantoids]

uhhhhhhh

okay so like i have an art blog

https://maldemoi.tumblr.com/

pls follow it

[phantoids]

Yo dipshits guess who it is!!!!!!!

Your favourite blog who never posts anything.

And now, I must fuck off. Maybe post some art here.