Statistics
We looked inside some of the posts by zreflections and here's what we found interesting.
Average Info
Notes Per Post
1
Likes Per Post
1
Reblog Per Post
0
Reply Per Post
0
Time Between Posts
3 days ago
Number of Posts By Type
Text
17
Last Seen Tumblr Blogs
Fun Fact
In February 2021, Tumblr had 518.6 million blog accounts.
Text
The system is crushing you.
He is on the end of the phone, voice hushed and low,
"Well the system wasn't built, for the way you are doing it. It is built for multiple roommates to rent."
Assuming a woman would pay for lunch, it comes out of his pay. My birth control is taken late because I left my wallet at home.
The system is crushing.
Capitalism will crush you not abusive people going onward. I left those abusive people behind.
0 notes
Text
Feelings often swallow me.
With teeth breaking my skin.
Sinking in me.
But I dig my fingers in the wounds.
Pry them open further.
Make the blood drip off my wrist.
Get it smeared onto my fingertips.
A gift to feel so much?
No. My mental illness never made me stronger.
All it left was pages of words no one will read.
In marker I write on my skin.
No one will ever love you.
Stupid.
Slut.
There's a boy who loves me enough to hit me in bed. Hit me harder when I order him.
Choke me until I can't think.
Suffocate me with his palm.
All of it is what I've longed for a long time.
He brings up electrocution. Go for it.
Anything to make me stop feeling.
Anything to make me feel my body.
Walking around in the world I can't feel anything physically.
My fingertips have been numb everyday for three months. Derealized. Walking in the alternative dimension of a dream.
Do you see it?
0 notes
Text
Feelings often swallow me.
With teeth breaking my skin.
Sinking in me.
But I dig my fingers in the wounds.
Pry them open further.
Make the blood drip off my wrist.
Get it smeared onto my fingertips.
A gift to feel so much?
No. My mental illness never made me stronger.
All it left was pages of words no one will read.
In marker I write on my skin.
No one will ever love you.
Stupid.
Slut.
There's a boy who loves me enough to hit me in bed. Hit me harder when I order him.
Choke me until I can't think.
Suffocate me with his palm.
All of it is what I've longed for a long time.
He brings up electrocution. Go for it.
Anything to make me stop feeling.
Anything to make me feel my body.
Walking around in the world I can't feel anything physically.
My fingertips have been numb everyday for three months. Derealized. Walking in the alternative dimension of a dream.
Do you see it?
0 notes
Text
Women have been domesticated over the years.
But our rage is still a feral wild thing. We carry it in our bones. From our mother's mother's mother.
The pain of defeat and the chaos of the magic we are often made to forget. Screens and lights surround us. Made by men afraid of the dark.
Again. My hands craft knives. My pockets carry stones. My lover is softer than me. He can afford it.
0 notes
Text
I should have been more careful, coming to you.
I wanted you to.
I am. Lost in an ever dark sea. I make my own lights of bioluminesent junk from my eyes. The travels of sleep. Do seaotters get that junk in thier eyes, as well?
What if, you were wanted, until you came? What if, you had never done anything to deserve abuse? What then? What then?
Reality.
Exisental crisis.
Be more careful.
Could I, if something happens, end anything attached to you?
The answer is no.
The reality is yes.
I hate myself for asking.
0 notes
Text
You are a soft thing. A soft animal full of collegen and spinal fluids. Yet, you are the strongest and bravest person I've known.
I'm afraid to be in love.
0 notes
Text
I write because otherwise these feelings rot inside of me.
0 notes
Text
Biography
A Tale of Therapy Claire A.H.
A Tale of Therapy 2022 Claire A.H.
Fantasy
Faye Wolf Claire A.H.
Poetry
Encyclopedia of wishes Claire A.H.
A Summer Of Rainy Pocketbooks Claire A.H.
0 notes
Text
A black lump burrows from the inside, out in my chest. The CBT workbook told me to picture bad thoughts as objects. Make them "silly and ridiculous". Name them strange concepts.
No one bothers to explain being intelligent generally just makes you want to die all the time. That maybe life is the virus in the eco system.
My boyfriend never thinks about things. He is from one thing to the next, zinging around like tiktock filed redbull shots. He eats hot peppers on everything. I am one of roughly fourteen thousand people who are allergic to caspasien.
All day I made an effort to keep the voice quiet. The one that tells me, you suck. You. Are stupid. He hates you. He will get sick of you. Your ideas are stupid. Just die already.
A few days ago I almost walked in front of a car. My life is good right now. I never want to lose it. Everything is new.
If I could marry him I would.
If I could kill myself I would.
I remind myself the moral of the story is that life one any planet is a wonderful gift. That suffering is the status quo and the happiness is the in-between. A soilder said so in a support group.
My suicidal friends arm won't stop bleeding. Her house is full of mold. She doesn't sleep from the illness. No one is helping her and she is stuck in helplessness.
Everyone who makes me bite in humanity never learned to arm themselves with thier teeth like I have.
I use them without meaning to.
They often lately land into myself. While I try to jot hurt anyone. Nothing good can come from me. The voice says.
Therapists like to say thoughts are like a computer and you just need reprogramming.
Studies show affirmations tend to not be helpful woth ptsd or cpstd because it resembles gaslighting.
I want to burn out.
I want to stop feeling.
Friday, I swam at the pool and thought about drowning. It seemed too much effort. Might as well stay.
So I pack bags. Eat lunch. Hate myself. Argue.
I admit it someone had a handful of drugs I would take them no questions asked.
Run a block if your bored.
My writing sucks
My videos suck
I hate the way my chest is constantly caving in even when I'm fine.
Friends and books say-
Don't make the bad feelings worse by having yourself for having them. Sorry noone gave a shit about me before.
His face crushed when I said, it's because those scars are new.
People all like me. My hair. My clothes. I'm polite.
If you askeda I successful, well. Maybe. I have a steady job. It's relatively low stress. The pay isn't great but the benefits aren't bad.
But I jerk and every sound hyper aware. I flinch. I want to prove my boyfriend to abuse me so I don't keep waiting asking when will the show drop?
I am always compressing myself into those space-saving bags. Trying to. But then ripping them open. Again. Again again. At every notion. Sprining back after ripping the airmask like on a plane.
I have never don't a real or true thing.
She lies as she has self published five books with bad grammar and spelling. And a collection of photos. And a heart full of regretful ashes.
There are things I should write about but they are all sad. I am the first in my family to say, I've had enough of this abuse.
People say I'm strong but I'm just broken China.
Nothing was handed to me.
I.
I wish I could breath better.
I still have no solutions I'm years of research.
Projects. Deadlines. Stupid. God. I'm so. Stupid.
He played out a fantasy I hate admiting I have recently. A sexual one. I just want to chase down his chin and stroke him into thoughtlessness.
I'm a freak. My brain prompts.
Make your goal to be yourself. He told me. I'm trying but...
Why can't being myself feel like something good? And not just a curse I need unicorn tears and griffin blood.
My brother quit caring the moment I left.
I hope a stray bullet gets me.
Sometimes I want to live forever. But mostly? Mostly I want time to stop.
Stop moving and let me adjust.
Fuck.
It's always the same shit from my mouth.
Useless.
0 notes
Text
The wolf that helped me fend off torch pitch monsters driving me to extinction. She turns and bites me into shreds the minute the common enemy has fled. Blood runs down her chin. My own blood pools on my feet.
0 notes
Text
What is the forbidden angel language is really just the programming code for the universe.
0 notes
Text
Please don't feel unsuccessful by comparing yourself to success that is not what you want, but what society wants you to aim for to keep profiting it.
Success is work life balance and warm sunny days drinking lemonade with people who love me.
0 notes
Text
In the morning I think first of you.
All of my time is yours when you ask.
I belive love is wanting to spend your time with someone.
And feeling better for it.
Thank you for teaching me how to grow as a person.
0 notes