Quotes About Coping

I wanted to write a story about my struggles with depression and mental health. It's an issue that needs to be talked about more.

Depression and anxiety affect a huge number of us. It's so important that the barriers that keep us from talking, seeking out help, and finding a way to cope when things feel desperate are removed.

Of course, there was a lot of anger and denial and even attempts to forget about being diabetic. Maybe I could forget about it for a while, but it never forgot about me.

When you live with a dead man's head that won't shut up and smokes all your cigarettes, the only way to deal with the awfulness is to make it so unbelievably awful that it becomes kind of weirdly beautiful. Like an exploding giraffe full of fireworks.

Janet keeps stabbing and all clever Dan can think to do is roll up like an armadillo and hope he grows armor.

Things are bad enough without getting cancer too," he says. "It's never too late to develop bad habits.

I'm fine. Really," I lie.

Those of us who battle chronic illness are in it for the long haul. I need to come to grips with who I am and what is important before I can function at my best with others. That has yet to happen, for I am a work in progress with no end in sight. Coping is forever an aspiration. I need to stop getting hung up on conventional issues of control and inabilities that just do not matter.

La pena va royendo el corazón humano lentamente. La gente cree a menudo que, moviéndose, podrá superarla.

when all else fails, he thought, make an offering to the god of laughter.

Some people deal with their problems by talking them to death. In fact, some enjoy the execution so much they resurrect their problems just so they can kill them again.-Nathan Hurst

when faced with overwhelming loss and stress, a man must choose to live and find his own way through his broken heart.

we try to ease our pain with anger. But anger isn't strength. It only masks itself as strength. It's weakness. At its core, it's fear. Fear of facing what might be truth

Survivor's guilt is a peculiar thing. Why would our psyche torture itself for doing what it was primarily designed for?

Everyone needs an emotional foxhole. A place to hide when life's storms hit.

My father served in Vietnam. When I was young he told me that everyone needs an emotional foxhole. A place to hide when life's storms hit.

Denial, perhaps, is a necessary human mechanism to cope with the heartaches of life.

Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

I'm not suggesting the world is good, that life is easy, or that any of us are entitled to better. But please, isn't this the kind of thing you talk about in somber tones, in the afternoon, with some degree of hope and maybe even a handful of strategies?

He knew that the moment he allowed what his life meant to enter fully into his consciousness, he would either kill himself or someone else. So he denied himself and acted tough.

For a year she found an exquisite pain - almost pleasure - in facing the world as if she didn't care. Look at me, she would say to herself in the middle of a trying day. Look at me: I'm surviving; I'm coping; I'm in control of all this.

The whole point of crying was to quit before you cornied it up. The whole point of grief itself was to cut it out while it was still honest, while it still meant something. Because the thing was so easily corrupted: let yourself go and you started embellishing your own sobs, or you started telling about the Wheelers with a sad, sentimental smile and saying Frank was courageous, and then what the hell did you have?

All her life, from the time she was eight or nine years old, Gloria had relied on a neat, nearly automatic little trick of her mind for adjusting to minor disappointments. When you opened the bright wrappings of some meager or poorly chosen gift, you simply let your mind tell you it was just what you wanted; that way you could always make the right response, and you could even believe it.

Emily knew she was going to cry. She tried to avert it with a childhood trick that had sometimes worked before - pressing both thumbnails hard into the tender flesh beneath the nails of her index fingers, so that the self-inflicted pain might be greater than the ache of her swelling throat - but it was no use.