Quotes About Coping

They always say, 'Time heals.' But it really doesn't. You just get used to it. I live life with the mentality of 'OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.' So going forward, anything bad that happens can't be nearly as bad as what happened before.

The metaphor I've used is... somebody's going to push my family off a cliff pretty soon, and I won't be there to catch them. And that breaks my heart. But I have some time to sew some nets to cushion the fall. So, I can curl up in a ball and cry, or I can get to work on the nets.

Because I was a shy and awkward child, I used humour to deflect attention. It was a controlling mechanism. Because I could use it to control my image.

Stuff used to get me really crazy, touring stuff. I used to hide. I hid from everybody. Back in '87, when things were so hectic, I'd run away. There was so much pressure.

Self-pity is never useful. It tends to distort like a fun-house mirror.

Depression is so smart - it uses all your references and patterns.

Crazy Jane is a complex individual who always has a lot brewing. She tries to hold things together on the surface, which is something that we all try to do. She uses these different personalities to try to cope with life.

I feel that I fell somewhat under that category where I was using fighting to kind of run from my own self to an extent, to kind of numb the things that I thought about myself. When I had fighting taken away, I was forced to look at myself in the mirror and say, 'What are you without fighting?'

A sensitive person is seldom happy with the world the way it is. And since you cannot change it, you think, 'Might as well numb the anguish.' If you're using something to escape reality, then it's something you need to address.

Things you don't expect come up, and you have to adapt. You can't let it throw you off. You have to cope. Those are all really valuable skills, in life and racing.

I tried to drink a cup of tea, but my hands shook when I lifted the cup to my mouth. I was on the verge of tears, but I knew that tears would do no good. I fed the fire, I prayed, I walked the floor, I prayed, I read my Bible, I prayed; and somehow this even longer second day of storm passed by, hour by hour.

It isn't what happens its how you deal with it.

I'm fine, I said, which is what people who aren't fine always say.

I'm sorry," I said. "It's been a tough day, and my nerves are in shreds. I need to get home and have a long, hot bath and then a martini." Thursday5 thought for a moment. "After you've drunk the long, hot bath," she observed, "you'll never have room for the martini.

Me acostaba llorando, me despertaba llorando y me pasaba el día escondiéndome de la gente, para poder llorar.

Panic attacks were like earthquakes. It wasn't a matter of if there would be another one. It was only a question of when it would strike. She had discovered the hard way that it might be weeks, months or even years between attacks. Or it could be tomorrow night.

There comes a time when the heaping up of calamities brings on uncontrollable nervous laughter - when, after a final blow from fate, we decide to treat it all as a joke.

Poor me. There's nothing so sweet as wallowing in it is there? Wallowing is sex for depressives.

Memory loss is one way of coping with damage.

No. Take the heart first. Then you don't feel the cold so much. The pain so much. With the heart gone, there's no reason to stay your hand. Your eyes can look on death and not tremble. It's the heart that betrays us, makes us weep, makes us bury our friends when we should be marching ahead. It's the heart that sickens us at night and makes us hate who we are. It's the heart that sings old songs and brings memories of warm days.

In therapy, the therapist acts as a container for what we daren't let out, because it is so scary, or what lets itself out every so often, and lays waste to our lives.

My usual confessional is a straight Macallan but not before 5 o'clock. Perhaps that's why I try and have my crises in the evening.

At my most precarious, I balanced on a book, and the books rafted me over the tides of feelings that left me soaked and shattered.

I manage my own madness just as you do. And if my heart is broken it keeps beating. That is the strangeness of life.