coping

Life presents variables; learning how to cope in order to master, minimize, or tolerate what has come to pass.

Dream Factory
You keep telling me it might help if I tell you my dreams. I told you I don’t remember any. But you know, last night, I had a vivid one, the kind that stays with you. When I woke up, I took some notes, so I wouldn’t forget.
By Roseanne T. Sullivan5 years ago in Psyche
Absolution in the Form of a Book
The book is barely alive in the sand. It’s about a centimetre away from each lap of the waves; close to its death, close to soaking the neat script and the remaining thousand dollars wedged between its pages. Inside there is a eulogy, an apology, and a written promise of a small inheritance with the instruction to ‘take care of yourself’. With love, of course.
By Lina Bea5 years ago in Psyche
without her
The words aren’t formed as thought words in his mind; but the feeling is gnawing. Occasional moments of relief come as a sort of distance from the feeling. A silly video. The cat. Its absence is barely lived before he’s again consumed with added weight.
By Sarah Tyers5 years ago in Psyche
Life's Chance
“Ah for Christ’s sake Lenny, give me one chance” “Are you kidding me kid? You’ve shown up stoned at best every other shift you’ve ever worked, and don’t think I don’t know it’s actually every goddamn day. You may be as broke as this city’s school system but that sure’s never stopped you from spending all your money on dope. For crying out loud, you gave Mr. Janikowski the sweet potato soup - and it’s got fuckin’ peanuts in it! He’s been coming here for 6 years and you were still too damn high to realize! Well look here, you saw him in anaphylactic shock, you saw the goddamn paramedics stretcher him out. I sympathize with ya kid. But this time I got no choice.”
By Austen Henry5 years ago in Psyche
Her Name Is Red
I sat; elbows pressed against the bar letting my eyes trace the rim of my glass. Peering up through my unkempt hair I noticed my reflection in the mirror behind the empty liquor shelves. The mirror was lined with faded green tile, chipped at the edges, aging against the mid-Florida heat. It was late afternoon in this hopeless hotel bar.
By Eljay Feuerman5 years ago in Psyche
Fighting The Lightning
It’s overwhelming, and like nothing you’ve ever felt before when the lightning strikes. You feel all at once light and heavy, light you’re soaring in the sky and being crushed by the deepest depths. There’s a numbness that goes with it. It finds its way to the back of your neck and then radiates down. Your world starts to turn, and you think it’s because of the feeling at your neck but it’s not, by this point you’re already starting to fall. The colours bleed into each other until finally your world goes black.
By obvicious15 years ago in Psyche
She Was A Childhood Friend of My Children!
I was driving through a neighborhood I once lived in… a neighborhood that “I” raised my 3 children in, for about 7 years of their lives.
By Muhammad Hakim II5 years ago in Psyche
A Broken Soul's Battle Cry
The wrecking of my heart will never be undone. The brokenness of soul is a case in which very few of us survive. What does one do when they lose all hope? How are we to carry on as we look around and everything we see is just another shattered memory? Traumatized by loss, sorrow, suffering, abandonment, and loneliness. If the bonds one has created in life or were given along the way are ripped and torn apart, what is the point of attaching oneself to others? Of seeking love and friendships? Of looking forward to the dawn of another day?
By Star Besio-Sharp5 years ago in Psyche
Homeless and Hopeful
Noah woke up with a stiffness in his right shoulder. Shifting in his seat only caused him to notice the discomfort in his back. Groggily, he reached for his cell phone. It was fully charged. The screen displayed the date and time: 8:12 AM - Friday, September 17, 2020. He grunted, realizing that this Friday marked the fourth full week of him living in his car. A disappointing milestone. One full month of homelessness.
By S.E.E.S.5 years ago in Psyche
Overthinking is my nemesis, so why do I treat it as my friend?
Since I was a child my friends and family have been able to tell when overthinking appeared in the doorway of my mind and insisted I put the kettle on.
By Rae Cod5 years ago in Psyche
The Figure
The Figure The figure stepped backwards into the dark recesses of the room. The sound of the number, “nineteen,” fading along with it. Andrés blinked over and over, trying to make out what he had just seen. His eyelids began to twitch as he transitioned back and forth from a series of blinks to squinting, to see if anyone was there. He reached out to his girlfriend, but she was not there. It had been a while since she was there next to him and at times he wondered if she was ever there at all. He reached over and turned on the lamp that was sitting on top of his nightstand, next to his bed. The darkness scattered from the room and revealed that, indeed, neither Vero nor anyone else was in the room with him. He replayed the experience in his head. He could only see contours of a human-like shape dissolving from his limited field of view. There was some semblance of light coming in from his window, but it was still dark out and his curtains were not drawn.
By Andrew Jacob5 years ago in Psyche
Entry #2
My poor therapist. Today's session was nearly a straight hour of tears. I began by talking about my apparent inability to keep a relationship. Have a relationship? Be one of two people within a relationship? I don't know. But the overall topic was wondering if I may, in fact, be alone for the rest of my life.
By Hilary Dane5 years ago in Psyche