Quotes About Recovery

The most difficult part of being a borderline personality has been the emptiness, the loneliness, and the intensity of feelings," she says today. "The extreme behaviors keep me so confused. At times I don't know what I'm feeling or who I am.

Hats off to drug abusers everywhere.

'The Panorama' is also the last place anywhere in New York where the World Trade Center still stands, whole, as it stood in the early morning of September 11. I can also see the corner where I saw the first tower fall and howled out loud. Seeing the buildings again here is uplifting, healing.

Just because I'd kicked junk, after all, did not mean I'd kicked being a junkie. And junkies lie. It's their primary addition.

Not until I stopped doing drugs altogether did I feel like a man. Not until I walked out of that fire did I have any idea what the word even meant.

Heroin spread that soft blanket over everything. But once the blanket was ripped off, it took a layer of skin with it, leaving nothing but nerve ends screaming in the breeze.

This book, for me, is less an exercise in recall than exorcism.

People always ask, "What's the worst thing heroin drove you to do?". I always answer, "showing up on Maury .

Not until you finally try to put down the stuff do you realize, with stinging clarity, precisely why you picked it up in the first place. All life, in this freshly nerve-flayed state, boils down to a choice of hells. The hell of being fucked-up on drugs or the hell of being fucked-up without them.

The trick of life," she said, "is that you can't hold the pain for too long. The magic, either.

Violet heard the coughing and came running back. She sank down on the bench beside Rose, putting her arm around the older girl and holding a handkerchief to Rose's lips. "What happened?" she asked Galen, her tone just shy of being accusatory. "I am so sorry, Your Highness," Galen said, backing away. "I made her laugh, and–" "You made her laugh?" Violet's eyes widened. "She hasn't laughed in weeks!" She smiled at Galen and gave Rose's shoulders a little squeeze.

My dad used to flush my mother's head down the toilet. I was so screwed up.

Her mind circled and darted like a bird whose nest has been destroyed.

That my husband stopped drinking with me was powerfully romantic, even if Hallmark doesn't have a card for it. Or maybe they do. It saved our marriage, or at least saved us from the stupid fights that didn't need to happen. Things said that didn't deserve to be said because it was the alcohol talking, not the heart.

Some people's lives seem to flow in a narrative; mine had many stops and starts. That's what trauma does. It interrupts the plot. You can't process it because it doesn't fit with what came before or what comes afterwards.

After a series of traumas, one can lose the capacity to feel fear appropriately.

A hospital alone shows what war is.

We thought to build us houses, we desired gardens with terraces, for we wanted to look out upon the sea and to feel the wind, but we did not think that a house needs foundations. We are like those abandoned fields full of shell holes in France, no less peaceful than the other ploughed lands about them, but in them are lying still the buried explosives, and until these shall have been dug out and cleared away, to plough will be a danger both to plougher and ploughed.

Before my mother's tremulous anxiety I recover my composure. Now I can walk about and talk and answer questions without fear of having suddenly to lean against the wall because the world turns soft as rubber and my veins become brimstone.

We get back pretty well. There is no further attack by the enemy. We lie for an hour panting and resting before anyone speaks. We are so completely played out that in spite of our great hunger we do not think of the provisions. Then gradually we become something like men again.

Two years of rifle fire and hand grenades - you can't just take it all off like a pair of socks afterwards -

Mul tuleb nõrkushoog peale ja ma tunnen äkki, et ei suuda enam. Ma ei tahagi enam sõimata, sest see on mõttetu, vaid üksnes maha kukkuda ja mitte kunagi enam tõusta.

The war has ruined us for everything.

Šai mirkl? es aptv?ru, no k? baid?jos visvair?k: karš var?ja m?s izš?irt t?, ka m?s nekad vairs neatrastu viens otru p?c tam, kad tas b?tu iztrakojies, jo pat visliel?kaj? p?rdroš?b? nedr?kst?tu cer?t tik daudz personisk?s laimes p?c zemestr?ces, kas visu sagrautu.