Basic info: 20yo + he/him + DID system + PL/EN + DMs/inbox open + looking for friends/mutals + usually online + artist + writer + rper + yapper + ultimate SCP/Backrooms fan.
Discord: 0651_1d_y_2v___369_0
Full bio: https://dyv0-bio.straw.page/
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Another blogs: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/backrooms-wiki-pl
[Planning on RP one.]
Do. Not. Interact. If the views you hold make you hate me, treating me strangely and making me uncomfortable. Be respectful (netiquette).
All flavors -phobes, -scums/-meds, terfs, sexists, misogynists, misandrists, queer people who throw other queer people under the bus (xenogenders are valid descriptors). Sanists, ableists (transIDs, endo "systems" & pro endos), fakeclaimers, people who romanticize medical conditions or are weird about disabled people. People who do not respect personal identities of therians, otherkins, nonhumans. People who attack for their views (not liking chocolate or spirituality/religion). Anti ageregression (let them be). Fatphobia (being mean does not help anyone). Racists (what does that say about a person?). Extremists like Nazis or radqueers (or xenosatanists). 'Proshippers' community (If you like dark stuff, be mature and don't romanticize it - then you don't count as proshipper for me.). Pro-contact (Zoo, pedo, necro, incest.) I won't even include spammers and bots because they don't read anyway.
Each person is an individual case.
This blog is a diary kept by a real person. There are almost no reblogs here, only original content from real life. I invite other systems, yappers, and SCP fans to interact. I don't mind getting ads on DMs, syscourse or helping rookies.
DNI to be remade, I removed image.
Last edited: 29.01.2026
I'm on Tumblr thanks to: banesberry-anomoly
Note: I have deleted my other blogs including my previous one called pharisee_son. Note: Previously the pinned post was my bio, but now I've cleaned things up, so they're on the straw page.
My friends who are on Tumblr thanks to me are:
- Madame yapper (wiewiurka)
- Nulli (amongus)
I drew, or at least tried to draw, my OC more realistically in a military uniform and without being cute. It was twink death. No more adorable war criminal, now he fights for humanity instead.
Screenshots with terrified and confused people below.
@mayyyandme was person that notified me, but something weird happend - like she lost her account ot blocked me. Anyone knows about my chud getting stolen?
It was hot, even my T-shirts were too thick. I ate freze pops, drank unholy ammounts of water, sat on ice cubes, used a fan. Not exactly fun. So I realized what I had in queque to upcycle. They were old bed sheets. The ones I remember from my childhood and have enormous meaning to me, like, pure comfort. Their material was natural, cotton, light, and airy (I wish the things we buy today were like that). I turned them into a summer dress, a nightgown - whatever it took. If it was hot, I wasn't so concerned about gender norms; I asked if it was very gay. The answer I got was that I looked Arab and that it would be gay if I added lace or made the sleeves puffy. Right now, it's just one of the most comfortable things I've ever had, and, whimsical. My aunt told me she wants me to sew dress for her too.
Disability pride month, what's it like with my disability? Internalized ableism.
Stuff I have - albinism, DID, dyscalculia. Pots?
TW: Ableism, trauma. But overall, experiences.
Lately, I've been watching more content creators to see how other people with albinism live. It seemed as if they embraced it. Screen readers, text-to-speech, sunscreens. I grew up in a fairly ableist environment. My siblings didn't care about their glasses, kinda ignored everything all together. And if you were ill, they considered you lazy (Oh, if you were only in 1% as normal as them). So, for a long time, I preferred to believe I could rawdogg on reality to somehow overcome my issues, deliberately torturing myself in various ways.
(Squinting to read the chalkboard when I was younger, "ohhh just sit closer/write faster." I tried to get a tan, got sunburns instead. I didn't get many insults or weird comments; it was usually something like, "Do you want self-tanner?", "Come get a tan, you look like a ghost," "You look like you're stepping on flour." People liked my hair or eye color more. Thoughts like, "Wow, I'm really pretty!" and then, "I look like a beluga whale/judge holden from bloody meridian." Feeling like I'm genetically screwed and it's better not to reproduce. For most of my life, I wasn't even told I had this condition, even when I was diagnosed as a child after a visit to the ophthalmologist.)
I thought reading books would help me; you just kinda sit down and try. I like content, I can focus very well. My method was glancing briefly, memorizing entire blocks of text, and rereading it in my head (I know it's silly). I decided that listening to audiobooks was much better. And sewing something in between, I instinctively insert the needle into fabric and that's it. When I'm writing a roleplay, I highlight the text, I respond to the segments, writing more, reading less. Lately, I discovered the magic of text-to-speech and screen readers. Nystagmus has been defeated, I think.
I used to wear a sun mask. Now I have these great glasses that darken in the sun, so that and going out in the evening or early morning is acceptable. If I have to at other times, I wear something that covers me adequately. My aunt found sunscreen at her employer while working, and he told her she could take it. I protested, having an aversion to cosmetics and so on (trans thing, bad connotations, being forced). And it turned out it really works; it was fun because it was like I was indestructible.
I recently discovered that you can apply for a free laptop on the basis of a disability. This requires additional eye tests, an application, and so on. And if I'm successful, I only pay 20% of the price. My aunt is very hopeful. Me too.
--
Regarding remembering things, with DID, it was also quite funny. I have a very good memory; I literally don't forget anything I see once. Alters are simply separate containers for memories that can be shared/written down (if I forget, it's fucking blackout, it wasn't my thing to remember). It can look quite scary. Persecutors, often split without much reason. System shutdown, massive amounts of dissociation, rare and less noticeable switches. I'm very functional, but inside, I'm quite empty, so when I do all these things, there's simply no one to enjoy them, unfortunately. I thought I was fine because there's no sadness. The archivist split an alter who was really kind, without fear of being cringey, then that alter split a working alter, then that alter split an exhausted one (Freya), and then Perpetual motion shut down leech-people. Basically, things got screwed up. Distressing factor was here all the time. Too much thing to do, being too harsh on myself.
But, in flashes of awareness, I kind of noticed what was happening. And now, I'm trying to work on it. Breaking down dissociation, reducing stress, unearthing lore. A journal. My alternative to Simply Plural is Obsidian (my friend used Toyhouse). Unfortunately, many of the alternatives to SP are vibe coded or undercooked, and the developers are constantly harassed and uncooperative with each other. Endos, willos vs. anti-endos (I'm anti-endo and only want disability aid). I started journaling daily. I write down all alters in more detail. Track my mood. Nightmares (update, I beat my abusers in dreams :3, on a bad note, split because of reoccurring nightmares), lucid dreams (had fun). So even if I don't remember the days, I can read them and organize them. Chats with people are pasted into the journal. Screenshots. Things that bring back memories. Everything I find worth noting.
(And of course, denial has been defeated, even when the symptoms one day are less visible, less disruptive. When someone has denial, they're immediately bombarded with evidence, random music, and so on. I wanted to go to therapy for trauma and dissociation, but, actually, I can't because I'm broke - my parents promised to pay, but as usual, they can't be fair, the way to boil a frog. I'm going to sue them. And for now, the disability pension is more or less enough for food. I can't get an official diagnosis (only medical recognition by my psychiatrist) and understanding of my surroundings. Thanks to a shitload of misdiagnoses earlier, I get somewhat good money, with which I can afford food (free rent because I'm loved, I'm protected). It's kind of a weird limbo state. All because of my mother, who had Manchausen syndrome and caused the alters to lean into her ideas. Big shit.). I'm currently stable enough (the only issue is dissociation and nightmares) that I don't need to take any medications; they don't work anyway because each alter has a different brain activity pattern. Fluoxetine screwed me up, so no thank you.
The desktop has sticky notes, reminders, a to-do list, a folder with DID resources⦠Uh, BAH to help alters that are completely unnamed get some distinct identities. Linux has been transformed into Simply Plural. Separate profiles with different themes, different passwords. Different browser profiles. Different applications. This means no one deletes anyone's stuff anymore. Regularly changing profile pictures when changing hosts (if we have a host). Feeling more free to express ourselves through clothes. Favorite servers, categorically categorized people by trust level and friendship status (emotional amnesia is a bitch).
The system isn't my friend or foe, it's more like people trying to live separate lives, sometimes bumping into each other, and when they borrow a body, they try to take care of it. Hygiene, sleep (the cycle sometimes flips because different alters have different habits), physical activity, diet. Not breaking off friendships without consultation. Communication is okay, but it's the bare minimum, like yelling to take the dog for a walk. Or "Don't say that because [x]." But it's not like we don't have a roaming persecutor - he's torturing littles or more vulnerable alters in nightmares related to our parents, not exactly fun. But since I have amnesia afterwards, it's almost acceptable. Or, multiplayer dreams where several alters do something, one remembers everything. When I sleep, I have easier time switching or communication because there are more triggers and less real-life inhibition.
---
It's time to say a few words about dyscalculia. I was diagnosed not too late, but it was never properly understood. Paradoxically, it's one of the few true diagnoses (beyond albinism). These false diagnoses include acute polymorphic psychotic disorder, nihilistic delusions, Asperger's syndrome, depression, anxiety disorder. Ugh⦠There's more. They wanted to give me ADHD, schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, OCD, intellectual disability. My mother herself thought I was a savant. Everything under the sun. Random bullshit go. Dyscalculia at least gave me a little more leniency at school, more time. But I still counted by painting sticks or using my fingers. A calculator only helped partially (I keep it in a visible place on my computer; better than nothing). The last funny thing was when I accidentally locked my bank account and we had to go to physical place. At this level, my aunt reads it for me so I don't make a stupid mistake. But she doesn't really mind helping since it's funny to her. And by the way, I don't hate math; it's interesting, but I don't have the tools to deal with it. Writing and other things are safer because at least I'm not embarrassed. Oh, and it affects my sense of direction - so when I'm alone, I easily get lost. I have nowhere to go anyway, since I live in the middle of nowhere, and when I do go somewhere, it's to the doctor. Because of really extreme motion sickness (let me tell you how much I hate it).
And that was all I could say about my stuff, my latest progress, and so on. Besides that, I suspected POTS, but the symptoms are strongly wary depending on the alter. One almost faints, another gets spots before their eyes and has to stop for a moment, and extreme sensitivity to heat (I melt like a snowman at 20 degrees Celsius). Blood polling in my feet. Heart acting really weird. It's usually not that disruptive (or I'm dissociated as hell and can't tell what's uncomfortable, annoying, or painful). Recently, I wanted to eat strawberries, I was talking to my aunt, recently I stood up (too quickly), and suddenly my head dropped, and my aunt was very worried and offered to send me for tests. Well, before, when I fainted after a shower, I thought I was dying, so I screamed for help while I somehow crawled to the kitchen or while sitting on the toilet floor. It may sound funny, but it wasn't. Or, when I had to pour gravel into wheelbarrows, it was for some reason much harder for me than cleaning the stables; my vision was completely black and I felt nauseous (that's why I don't feel like doing it). In the stables, my head is more or less stable, so somehow it's okay. I'm just confused about all of this.
Oh and yea, dont eat me alive for long dashes, it's not AI, it's google translate (I hate it).
I drew, or at least tried to draw, my OC more realistically in a military uniform and without being cute. It was twink death. No more adorable war criminal, now he fights for humanity instead.
Screenshots with terrified and confused people below.
Once embroidered, the dog won't be able to lose or damage it. His ass destroys everything. He won't have enough neck space for various collars: a flea collar, a leash, a numbered collar, and even a GPS collar.
On a walk, I found a small hooded crow learning to fly, and the dog tried to attack it. The bird, strangely, wouldn't run away. So I wanted to find out what happened to it. It was bleeding slightly. Its parents cawed at me. I took it home, my hands covered in blood. I fed it egg yolk and meat. I spread it around my room and house so it could find its own food. I let it fly around a little. And after maybe three days, when the house seemed small, when I was sure it had regained its strength and could fly, I put the basket outside. This made it harder for me to sleep when it jumped on my bed or paced around because I was worried about its condition and that it would do something stupid. It jumped on the car and managed to fly away, even though it was crooked. Now that it's recovered, I know it can avoid dogs and foxes that can kill it. We have various bird stories, like rescuing storks and yappin' with an ornithologist about what to do.
The poncho was from my aunt's friend, the socks were randomly found in my sewing supplies, and the shorts were found at a thrift store. My Christmas sweater was too small, so I made it into leg warmers because I like those. I feel like I have the right femtantyl proportions now.
