Quotes About Coping

Alas, he himself was a man too easily encouraged, too completely seduced by hope, only to be devastated by disappointment. He'd been born to privilege, conditioned to expect things would go well, and pathetically unable to cope once they started to go wrong.

Enduring what couldn't be cured, she supposed, was what people meant by being adult, though it was ironic that so few of them—including her parents—had mastered the skill themselves.

Humor was a good way to hide the pain.

Don't dwell on things. Don't stay in one place too long. It was the only way to stay ahead of sadness.

Each person's grief has its own life span; it needs to follow its own path.

Plus, humor is a good way to hide the pain. - Leo

Plus, humor ws a good way to hide the pain. And if that didn't work, there was always Plan B. Run aaway. Over and over.

Laughter is a good way to hide pain- Leo Valdez

Hope is as essential to your life as air and water. You need hope to cope. Dr. Bernie Siegel found he could predict which of his cancer patients would go into remission by asking, "Do you want to live to be one hundred?" Those with a deep sense of life purpose answered yes and were the ones most likely to survive. Hope comes from having a purpose.

The only way to stop the tears was to keep drinking the whisky.

Don't let your imagination run away with you..." But why would you not when the reality was so awful?

Not comforting to see pain and death but just to see what she could not let herself imagine and therefore ruled her.

I suppose if alcohol had been available to me that November, I would have become a drunk. As it was, the only thing I could lose my miserable self in was books.

I was quite sure I was crazy, and it was amazing that as soon as I admitted it, I became quite calm. There was nothing I could do about it. I seemed relatively harmless. After

Books took away the pain and disappointment, they always did. Books closed bad doors and opened good ones.

There is always a part of my mind that is preparing for the worst, and another part of my mind that believes if I prepare enough for it, the worst won't happen.

Now I had no choice but to live in the broken world that my mind had forced upon me.

I avoided situations that might otherwise trip or jangle my hypersensitive wiring, and I learned to pretend I was paying attention or following a logical point when my mind qas off chasing rabbits in a thousand directions.

As a child I had been quiet and invisible when troubled; as an adult, I had hidden my mental illness behind an elaborate construction of laughter and work and dissembling.

It has been said that grief is a kind of madness. I disagree. There is a sanity to grief, in its just proportion of emotion to cause, that madness does not have. I know madness well, but I understood little of grief and I was not always certain which was grief and which was madness. Grief, as it transpires has its own territory.

For several weeks, I drank vodka in my orange juice before setting off for school in the mornings, and I thought obsessively about killing myself.

In those early months, we'd somehow developed this idea that how well you were settling in at the Cottages—how well you were coping—was somehow reflected by how many books you'd read. It sounds odd, but there you are, it was just something that developed between us, the ones who'd arrived from Hailsham.

I could mentally lift the vision wholesale and stick it into the already overflowing "crazy shit I'll deal with later" box in my brain.

Sometimes, wanting to impress is what keeps us moving when all we really want to do is curl up in a fetal position and whimper.