#poor coping

[colection-of-chaos]

Whumptober 2025 - Day 13: Never Enough

Still burning

And no matter 

How much I rest

I'm never awake

Is this a test

that I have to take

that i failed

Can i be enough 

just for a second

Can someone say  That they see

the effort it takes

not to scream

[healing-and-free]

I’m here to inform you that I regret drinking all that wine earlier because I was stressed out. Now I have to carry on through the rest of my night. Thank you.

[codependentbloom]

Huge abandonment feels coming up for me rn

In the same week, my counselor is no longer my counselor, the guinea pigs that I was fostering got adopted, and the guy I was dating is no longer in my life.

I battled between my usual coping skills: validation from cute men, smoking, drinking, or binge eating.

I chose eating...seemed like the healthiest of the four options

[sachigram]

Izaya's dead and Shizuo doesn't know how to deal. (You knew this was coming and you know I was going to ask for it)

Shizuo stares blankly at the ashes piling on the end of his cigarette. Vaguely, he recognizes he needs to flick them away before they fall and stain his dress pants. He wouldn’t fucking bother moving at all if Kasuka hadn’t given him these pants. Even if the rest of him looks like it’s been through the ringer, at least his clothes look pristine and new.

Dead. Izaya Orihara is dead. It’s strange, Shizuo thinks, that he’s imagined hearing those words for years now and being happy about it. No more Izaya to torment him, to provoke him into a mindless game of cat and mouse. No more Izaya skipping into Ikebukuro, finding lives to wreck, finding shit to stir up. but ever since Shinra said the words, “he’s dead, Shizuo,” Shizuo has felt nothing but hollow. Empty. Miserable. 

He doesn’t look up as Celty approaches, but he fully expects her to sit beside him and give him that concerned look of hers. It’s amazing he can read her expressions since she doesn’t have a head, but somehow he manages. He ignores her for the most part, taking another drag on his cigarette, and Celty finally lifts her phone. 

[You hated him.]

Yeah. He did, didn’t he? At one point at least. 

[Shizuo, we’re all very worried about you.]

But that hardly matters, right? He’ll bounce back from this eventually. It’s just taking him an abnormally long time to hit the bottom, but he feels he’s obscenely close to it now.

He stands, stomping on his cigarette butt. He nods to Celty and walks away from her, into the bright lights of Shinjuku. It’s funny, hilarious even, that he used to hate this city so much, but now it’s the only place that feels anything like home.

Even if the most important occupant is gone. 

[enby-anxiety]

I think a week of blurred, marathon dissociation is probably a good sign that I need to start processing this instead of ignoring it. It’s been four months and I am back to crying nearly every day and wishing that I could be dead just so I don’t have to think about anything anymore. I don’t know how to do this.

I keep having crying spells in my car on my way home and they’re absolutely devastating. The other night I was hysterically sobbing and I had to pull it together to make sure I didn’t wake anybody up or make them ask questions. I don’t know what to say if they ask what’s wrong. I can’t tell the truth. Keeping it from them is killing me in a different way but I wouldn’t ever be able to look my grandfather in the eye if I told him what was really wrong with me. 

I am physically and emotionally exhausted and nothing really helps that anymore either.

I am never present in conversation. I am always halfway between listening and drifting off. I don’t know where my mind goes, but it slips away for hours at a time and everything has started to feel like static. I get brief moments of reality sometimes. I become aware of my body and what I’m doing and I manage to connect the inner and outer worlds but this only comes for seconds or minutes now and then disappears again- and whenever I do connect the dots for any longer I just cry. I’m dissociating as a way of coping but it makes everything harder. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to live. 

I can’t even do the only thing I love because I’m separating myself from my feelings so completely that it’s almost impossible to get through two solid layers of emotional detachment and into something real for a character. I’m never going to get it back. I’m never going to be able to do it again and I am going to have to die knowing I’ve failed at the only thing I was ever almost good at.