Death. I imagine all the ways to deal with such an end.
You can come up swinging.
Or, you can allow it to be subsumed into a moment in which you become consumed by grief for that now dead world. My Dad knew such a person. Defeated by life, he slept, woke, worked, watched TV, and waited for his suffering to finish.
Or you allow it to be subducted, the edges folding and transforming that world, the frontier an alternating scene of anger and quiet.
The ultimate subduction zone of the worldview.
Mountains and craters and trenches – the landscape becomes a craggy place ruled by present participles.
When you are twelve and your worldview shatters, sometimes there is no other choice but to build a new one.