Quotes About Recovery

So they must find a way to repair their broken hearts by relighting the fire that is now dull within them. They should live for that.

Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex; But eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, Stick your hands inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories and make peace with them.

When two broken people bring their broken pieces together, chances are they will never become a whole anything.

Relieving pain, like building trust, is an inside job. It is only when you have been broken down mentally, emotionally, or spiritually and choose to stand up and keep moving that you can know the true meaning and value of trust. Trust is a function of choice. Trust grows in hearts that have often been broken open by pain. Trust can unfold in response to devastation, disappointment, and, more often than not, a depth of dysfunction that threatens the human soul. But

Unfortunately, it is normal to get stuck on the heartbreak, and in doing so miss the lessons.

Time doesn't heal, whatever they say. It's how we use the time that can heal.

Are you okay? I don't know. I have to think about it. Her head was still spinning. We're on the lawn, she said slowly. Our clothes are torn. I'm pretty sure I have the imprint of your fingers dented into my butt. I did my best, he murmured. She snickered first, then chuckled, then broke into fits of giddy, hiccupping laughter. Jesus, Roarke, Jesus Christ, look at us. In a minute. I think I'm still partially blind.

The statute of limitations . . . She's put it behind her. Or I hope she has." She'd have put it behind her, Eve thought, but it was always behind you. In a corner, in the dark. Squatting there behind you and chuckling in its throat.

expect he'll be back on his feet in a day or two. I'll be working

Maybe that's what people did, bounced back where they were supposed to be, bumps or not.

Roarke winced and began the delicate task of extracting his feet from his mouth.

maybe Reineke would've survived the blast—then he'd never have gotten over surviving it

Never is he going to be his old self again. Never is he going to have his old resilience. Whatever inside him was given the task of mending the organism after it was so terribly assaulted, first on the road, then in the operating theatre, has grown too tired of the job, too overburdened. And the same holds for the rest of the team, the lungs, the heart, the muscles, the brain. They did for him what they could as long as they could; now they want to rest.

What happened to you? she asked. I got hit in the side. With what? A knife.

Payne nailing him in the face woke him up. George brought him back his independence. But Beth handed him his crown.

Sometimes IVs and pills weren't always the best course of treatment for the injured. Sometimes all you needed was the touch of the one you loved and the sound of their voice and the knowledge that you were home, and that was enough to drag you back from the brink.

All right, big guy, down you go. Oh,yeah. Bed. Bed was good. And look who's here. It's Nurse Vishous.

This was the gift of recovery, he thought. The ability to be here in this moment with the female he loved and be fully aware, fully awake, fully present. Undiluted.

Scars, though, left wounds on the inside of you, and as with skin that didn't heal right, you still felt the rough spots from time to time.

Problems is, the word of an addict is just that. A word. nothing more.

Maybe he had to stop thinking TVs were sending him messages. Because this was a dumb fucking idea.

Going over to their prisoner, Vishous performed a visual assessment on Xcor. When they'd brought the bastard in here, V had strapped him onto the wooden slab table face-up and spread-eagled, locking stainless-steel cuffs on those wrists and ankles and around that thick neck—and what do you know, the guy was right where he'd left him. Color was passable. Eyes were closed. Head wound at the rear of the skull was no longer leaking, having healed already.

Esto iba a doler, pensó Saxton. Pero esto no iba a romperlo. Finalmente lo superaría. Sanar, seguir adelante. Los corazones se rompen todo el tiempo... ¿No había una canción sobre esto?

There were times in life when, as much as you wanted to fight for something, you just had to let it go. You didn't have to like the failure. You didn't have to feel really fucking great about the way things turned out. And you certainly didn't walk away from the shit scot-free, without being seriously damaged by the loss, crippled even. But you needed to let that stuff go, because expending the energy wasn't going to get you anywhere, and you might as well get on with getting used to the loss.