Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms - Tumblr Posts

“You’re creating your own problems by pushing people away and holding yourself to impossible standards”

I know!!!! That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing it!!

I knew this series would hurt me. I think in a lot of ways it hurts even more because the ABO dynamic in this society mirrors some of the darkest aspects about our societies antiquated and wrong views concerning gender. The main character being an omega has been trained by society that since she is an omega, she is a commodity, responsible for everyone's views and actions against her. The total "she was asking for it mentality". Which is bullshit. I honestly am really sad for the main character. She doesn't really have any good options, just has to bear through everything. I liked that Yoongi was totally upfront that he was responsible for his own actions and flirting with her. I am definitely proud of her for punching the shit out of Yugeom, but, it does make me concerned that it will create a horrific problem for her in the future. I just love your writing and the way you especially portray ABO dynamics as hyper realistic and mirroring society as a whole, and the commentary on that. What first got me reading your fics was Harvest Moon, but what totally drew you apart for me as one of my favorite authors on this site, was the Yoongi x reader ABO fic, where the MC was an omega at University.

物の哀れ ( ‘the sadness of things’.)

Characters : Alpha! Jungkook x Omega ! OC.

Genre : Arranged Marriage / Temporary contractual Marriage.

Warnings : Non- Con/ Extremely Dubious Consent . High functioning alcoholism. Genre related consent issues. Implied suicidal thoughts.

Summary : A recently widowed Jungkook agrees to a contract marriage to keep his company afloat. His grief overwhelms him and it is hard to look at his new wife as anything other than an intruder .

[  Author’s Note :  物の哀れ ~ Mono no aware can be translated as ‘the sadness of things’. It comes from the words 物 (mono – thing) and 哀れ (aware – poignancy or pathos). The ‘sadness’ in question comes from an awareness of the transience of things, as taught by Zen Buddhism. When we view something exceptionally beautiful, we might feel sad because we know it won’t stay so beautiful forever – but appreciation only heightens the pleasure we take in the beautiful thing in that moment. ]

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“Yoongi left a bunch of painkillers for you. He said you can take up to three per day.” Jin said calmly , carefully slipping the sleeves of my t shirt over my wrist as i held my arms out for him. He slipped the shirt over my head gently but his arms hit my shoulders, jostling me.   I swallowed the whimper of pain that shot through me at the movement. Mina was now awake, happily wiggling around on her rocker. 

It was a little past seven in the evening and Jungkook wasn’t due to arrive for another hour . 

“I could sleep on a bed of rusty nails right now. I’m so tired and i don’t know why. “ I whispered, staying still as he carefully drew the fabric down over my ribs, before stepping back. 

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I can’t imagine not wanting to kill urself. Sounds like a real skill issue. Fucking weird shit right there. Cringe. I was six when I started wanted to unaliven myself, and obviously that’s the day I became normal. I’m such a role model, a functional adult human person, even!

me after noticing that i’ve got semi-long finger nails for the first time in 9 years: HELL YEAH IVE STOPPED USING BITING MY NAILS AS A COPING MECHANISM

me 4 seconds later wondering why my hands are bleeding: oh no i’ve reverted back to scratching my hands as a coping mechanism

me three days later: still have scratched up hands, and now i’m back to having stubby nails because the stress of having gross bleeding hands made me start the nail biting again

i wish i could treat myself the way i treat others

tw. unhealthy coping mechanisms, ed, i'm bad at feelings.

i'm not a bad person. i know i'm empathetic like a stone, but at least – even though i can hardly ever understand people's feelings – i'm tolerant.

i never judge. if someone misbehaves, i don't judge because i don't know what's behind that attitude. if someone looks like shit for a day, i don't judge, because i don't know why they didn't brush their hair that day, what if they're depressed? what if something happened in their life so now they don't feel like taking care of themselves? i don't know. and if someone get a bad grade, i don't judge. maybe they've tried their best, maybe something occurred in their life so they couldn't study properly, whatever. i don't care. i'm tolerant.

you didn't answer my text? no problem, you were busy. you didn't show up? the other thing you had to do was more important. you were rude to me? don't worry, it happens, you won't do it again.

but when it comes to me, i'm not that tolerant. i don't care if i've finished studying at 3am, i'll always wake up a little earlier to do my makeup and hair and make sure i look perfect when i go to school. i get a slightly lower grade? i'm not going to sleep for the next three weeks because i need to study more. i treat someone badly because i'm annoyed about something? i won't eat as a punishment.

i am the meanest girl ever when it's about me. there's a voice in my brain that constantly tells me that i'm the worst person in the world. i'm mean, annoying, stupid, presumptuous, know-it-all, rude, emotionless. even though i rationally know that, actually, there's nothing wrong with me. i'm not a saint, but i'm not evil.

and i sincerely ask myself, why am i so hard on myself? i wish i could just treat myself the way i treat others.

Having started drinking in his late teens, Roman has exceptional alcohol tolerance. Few days go by where he doesn’t have at least one drink in some form or another, be it shots of whiskey in strong coffee to keep him going during long nights or enjoying a glass of expensive wine while conducting business deals. He very rarely gets drunk enough to completely lose all inhibition, even if he’s consumed enough to knock most other men off their feet but enjoying alcohol as much as he does makes his stays at Arkham both difficult and unpleasant - not just for him but asylum staff also.

Don't have time to think

Everything was fine. Work was a good thing to do. So it was perfectly fine if Luisa was working all the time

Bad things happen bingo: Unhealthy coping mechanisms

The day was right in the middle. The hot sun washed everything in its light. Luisa wiped a sweatdrop from her brow. It was okay; a little sun wasn't a problem. Of course, the sweat on her skin felt terrible; her clothes were getting wet. But at least Luisa had her own shower for everyone's envy, so she could avoid waiting in the queue in the evening; instead, she could allow herself to scratch the walls with reminding of her chores.

"Are you sure it's not too much?" Señor Rangel asked worriedly, looking at how Luisa lifted a wagon filled with different building supplies.

She just shook her head and smiled, staring into his deep brown eyes. "Don't worry, Señor, it's nothing for me!" Really, this was easier than a feather. And Luisa wasn't a child anymore; she knew how to use her strength without breaking anything. The man didn't seem too convinced, looking at the young girl. But Luisa wasn't going to stop. She didn't want to stop because working was easy. She could heave anything at all without a moment of muscle pain. Super strength could move the whole world with ease, like if the earth weighed less than a pea.

In the last years she started to work way more. Well, after all, when Mirabel's ceremony failed, there was a lot going on. They had to make up for her lack of gift and Tío's sudden disappearance. (Don't think about it.) And working a lot was a good thing; everyone said that. And wasn't it true? Luisa's burning willingness to carry all the heavy things helped everyone who was too weak to do it on their own. So she would grab, lift, move anything that she was asked to without a moment of trembling. After all, it was what she was supposed to do. There was nothing she couldn't endure.

Luisa walked along the streets with the weightless wagon above her head. People were peeling at her with great interest, just like in a circus. Wasn't it time to get used already? Luisa sighed. At least she had her job. For a moment, she stared at the blooming pink inflorescences on the balcony of one of the houses. She was really grateful that her gift wasn't like Isabela's; how was she even supposed to work with an ability to grow plants? No, of course, connection to plants was probably great, especially for such a botanic like Isabela, but it didn't give as many chores as an unlimited strength. Luisa could always find something to do. And if there wasn't any job for her, she could just come up with the stupidest suggestions ever, like moving Señora Diaz's house so those flowers could get better lighting. It was a minute job, but it kept her busy. The wagon fell on the ground with a thud, but Luisa didn't pay attention to it; she had a lot of labor to do. Luisa was she one who could do all the heavy lifting. She spent a second wiping her horehead before getting to another villager, asking if there was anything to do. Because it was better than stopping.

(Why didn't Mirabel get a gift? Where was Tío Bruno? Did he leave because of...)

Luisa shook her head. It wasn't important. So what if magic fails? So what if her own uncle just disappeared without a trace? So what if Mirabel fell from being the favorite grandchild to the outcast just because she couldn't be useful enough? It wasn't Luisa's business; she didn't care. There was a job to do. A lot of job, no matter if it was placed on her shoulders forcefully or if she had to snatch it out of somebody's hands. It was easy for her to work all the time. Physical strength was needed in everyday trabajo all the time. And her parents were still focused on Mirabel after her failed ceremony, so Luisa was on her own. And she spent this possibility to make sure she was a helping hand in all zones she could be needed.

Luisa didn't think, didn't want to think about what was going on in the family in the past few months. So instead, she preffered distract herself, occupying all her thoughts with work. She thought about her chores when she was waking up and when she was getting to bed. All the time. And it was better than allowing herself to proceed everything. Not like it mattered. Working a lot was a good thing. Becides, Luisa was always extremely active, the energy inside her small body was overflowing even before her ceremony. She wasn't the type to sit still and do some low-active things. Although she loved when Tío Bruno was reading some ancient myths...

Luisa clutched her fists, stopping for a moment, before she ran faster to another villager, begging for something to do. There was no point in talking about what was gone. The only thing that mattered was what was going on right now. She didn't want to acknowledge the issues within the family.

And even if her mind would suddenly think about it all—about the failed ceremony, about her missing uncle, and the deafening thunder in the kitchen in the middle of the night—Luisa could just push it out with work. After all, she couldn't do anything to help her family in that matter; she only worked hard to drown out her feelings prove herself. The family problems were probably the only thing Luisa wasn't able to fix, because she couldn't give Mirabel another door or find out where Tío Bruno was hiding and if he was still alive. And she was too scared to actually see that vision. Luisa wasn't even supposed to know about it. She understood that there was a reason why grownups gossiped about it at night when Dolores was in her soundproofed room. Luisa could never control the situation in her family. So instead, she attended to what she was able to do.

So she threw the donkey on her head to carry it to the barn. Those sneaky animals had been running away pretty often lately. Maybe Luisa could fix those fence... But, on other hand, the runaway burros gave her more work. Which was a good thing. So she should probably leave it like this. Making sure the barn was solid would take a lot of effort in the short term. But collecting the donkeys might be happening over and over again. Becides, nobody actually asked her to fix the fence. (No one asked her to catch the donkeys for the first time either)

Grab, lift, carry. Don't think about it. Don't feel. It wasn't important at all. Everything was fine. No matter if the family looked like it was bursting at the seams or if everyone was sad and broken. Luisa had a job—a lot of job. She wasn't running away from her reality, just helping the villagers. Houses could be moved, the mountains could be cracked; you only had to ask, and Luisa would serve you immediately. (anything better than stopping) She promised to work for the greater good of this community when she got her gift, didn't she? So she was just fulfilling her own promise to Abuela. What else was she supposed to do after all? She had no problems with helping the village except for the fact that things were getting out of control.

Luisa was running around the village, from one person to another, all day long. Moving anything she was asked to, getting to any hard labor, from carrying the food supplies to moving the whole streets around. It was a good and pretty reasonable thing to do. After all, she could do it almost effortlessly, and it still kept Luisa distracted. Even if her palms were getting rough from physical work when she was still young, hard skin wasn't a problem; it would probably happen at some point in her life anyway. And even if she was so worried about her work that it was hard to sleep... It just meant that Luisa was hardworking! Everyone praised the work! So Luisa should be proud of herself. No matter if she couldn't get into the activities with other kids, even if she wanted to. Becides, Luisa preferred physical activity and competitions, and it wasn't fair for the others, so she could just give them an accidental peek while she was carrying another donkey. And the fact that she felt guilt just for going to school like any of her colegas instead of working didn't matter either. It wasn't important that all her relationships started to fall apart just because Luisa couldn't spend ten minutes for a simple chat without feeling overflowing anxiety over the fact that she wasn't working. Luisa was doing great. She was just distracting herself from some bad things in the family. But she was distracting herself in a good way!

Señora Derres, her teacher, had a lesson about substance abuse recently. Luisa didn't remember that lesson very well; she got distracted soon enough to remind herself about all the jobs she was supposed to do that day, but she was really sad, knowing that some people would do something like this to escape from reality or stop feeling bad, alcohol or something even worse, just not to think. Luckily, she wasn't like that. You couldn't abuse work. It was the opposite way; after all, there was no better friend than a burden. And work was something good, because no one ever said that working too much is a bad thing to do, so doing a lot of good things was great for her. Abuela said that using her gift was helping her to pay for the miracle. Papa said that hard work should be respected. So it was exactly what Luisa did. Earn her miracle through hard work. She kept working as much as she could, and when it was impossible, she would think about it. (The fact that she couldn't stop thinking about her work wasn't worrying at all.)

It was a victory for everyone. The townspeople were getting their labor done, the magic was getting stronger, and Luisa didn't have to think about everything. She could have her coping mechanism and make everyone happy with it.

She was absolutely fine; why would anything be wrong?

“It’s getting better” (I found a new unhealthy obsession).