Toon | Effect

TW: (I don't know if I can accurately pre-inform what triggers to expect. But as this is a space for our trauma processing, do expect discussion at least of forms of abuse, sexual assault, and self-harm)

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Welcome to Toon World! It feels weird to call this a "system diary" as we've seen other people call these things, as we aren't really keeping it under lock and key. It's more of a "system journal" really. A place to think, and document, and converse with ourselves.

We're a pretty polyfragmented DID system. Giving an exact number would be a fruitless endeavor. It's a complicated state of being that makes it hard to offer any kind of "meet the system" or structured introduction. We're here. We'll probably tag by alter signoff. We're not sure how active everyone will be, but we offer this blog to the rest of ourself.

We don't care whether or not you know our other socials. We aren't going to attach this to any of them though, nor are we probably going to acknowledge discussing our other usernames. It's just the world of toons here. Please collectively use xey/xem/xeir pronouns, and the collective "you" unless requested otherwise by an alter.

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Why Toon World?

You can't really make a blog without a name. No one could find a good common ground to start that could balance the whole system rather than groups within it. Pegasus suggested Toon World, with some reasons why, and its logic stuck. To share that logic for fun:

Associated with good memories, and a happy colorful motif

Depicted in the anime and manga as a safe haven that protects all Toons

Sometimes I know the answer with every fiber of my consciousness. Sometimes, it's... weird to look back and see someone use my voice to answer with that same level of confidence, and not have any connection to that answer.

The question is terrifying when the answer is complicated. Who am I? I could be me, or I could be him wearing my face. I could be so deeply in tune with my partner that we don't worry about where one ends and the other begins until someone asks us to. (and then, no one understands. No one seems to grasp that it's painful to separate just to identify ourselves. It hurts to rip into a more defined two just so people can say one's name.)

The worst case scenario: there doesn't seem to be an answer at all. Who am I? Do I exist? The name you called me seems foreign. I have no identifying likes, or interests, or pronouns. I try to find some answer, and the only identity I seem to have is that I don't have an identity.

But... there's others, too.

A vague fugue before someone else wakes up.

A switch that feels more like a blend or smear from one to another.

A dissociative spiral and I ask myself "Who am I?" and someone else answers.