Quotes About Recovery

One day at a time. You rise, you eat, you bathe, and you talk to the few people you can tolerate while feeling so wretched. Over time, it hurts a little less. Then a little less. And so on...Until one morning, you will awake and realize the pain is only a memory. It will always be with you, but it will eventually lack the power to cripple you.

There was something sweet in watching him pull himself back together, restoring the façade he wore for the world while I knew at least a little of the man beneath it.

I was always running. My recovery was so fragile that I'd learned to protect it at all costs. When something threatened my stability, I ditched it.

Because when you're flat on your back you're not on your feet.

No matter how we move forward, there's always going to be that crack there that didn't exist before. That's what hurts.

You're not? A woman doesn't take a sabbatical from men if she hasn't been hurt by one real badly.

I knew you'd decide to be all right again.

I used to pray to recover you. --from Daddy, written 12 October 1962

Perhaps, perhaps this would be the one to pull me out of my plunge.

We'll take up where we left off, Esther', she had said, with her sweet martyr's smile. 'We'll act as if all this were a bad dream.' A bad dream. To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream. A bad dream. I remembered everything.

In March I'll be rested, caught up and human

What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?

El suelo parecía maravillosamente sólido. Era consolador saber que me había caído y que no podía caer más abajo.

I knew you'd decide to be all right again." STARLET

I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass? Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her— The mausoleum, the wax house. --from Stings, written 6 October 1962

conversing, in low tones, with the asylum librarian, an alumna

De parc? dulcea?a vindec?rii era ceva ce se putea sorbi prin simpla apropiere.

The sickness rolled through me in great waves

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass? Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her- The mausoleum, the wax house.

Something is gone. My sleeping capsule, my red and blue zeppelin Drops me from a terrible altitude. Carapace smashed, I spread to the beaks of birds.

I knew you'd decide to me alright again

Rüya görüyoruz ve rüyalar?m iyileÅŸiyor

I am a wound walking out of hospital. I am a wound that they are letting go

We get well first, then we work.