Quotes About Trauma

I'm sorry; it bothers me to touch people after I follow a demented mind. Please understand." Margaret nodded. "Of course, although I noticed your young man thought nothing of touching you." Raven smiled, shrugging as casually as possible, eyeing the sky for the lightning that might strike her for lying so much.

She didn't want to go up to him and find him dead. She'd found enough dead people, their bodies soaking in bright red blood. Who knew there was so much blood in the human body? Or that it could be so sticky and get everywhere?

Your woman knows how to deal with trauma?" Absinthe prompted. His woman walked on water.

Phobias are powerful vehicles for aggressive feelings. They condense anxiety. Intrusive phobias aren't part of general personalities, they just kick in at key moments. They're a defence against intense trauma, fear of intimacy, stuff like that.

Let me say right here, if I haven't made it clear, that I have seen as many pale, naked old-man parts in the last twenty-four hours to bruise my delicate psyche for a lifetime, so don't be surprised if you someday find me wandering the moors at midnight, a crazed look in my eye, babbling about albino Tater Tots nesting in Brillo pads and being pursued by sagging man ass, because that shit can happen when you've been traumatized.

The true agony of war isn't being wounded yourself, it's having to watch those you care about being hurt.

This might be the price of vengeance, she thinks. You have to spend the rest of your life living inside the memories of the worst things done to you so you can constantly justify what you did to avenge them.

It's hard enough on them to be cast out of the cushy comfort of the uterus—some forced to squeeze their way through a narrow birth canal, others literally plucked from the womb—into the harsh fluorescent light of the delivery room. Along the way, they encounter surgical instruments, drugs, and a host of hands that pull, prick, and scrub them, typically within seconds of their arrival

I have long believed that the ghosts of the past still linger here. They are stark reminders of the trauma and terror experienced by the unlucky patrons who had tickets to an afternoon matinee that day – and a chilling remembrance of a tragedy that should never be forgotten.

We see some of the worst things that mankind can do to each other and I still get shocked by some of the things that occur. Most people can go home and talk to their families about what they've done at work. We can't. But even if I could, I don't want my family to know some of the things that I've seen.

As the poet Philip Larkin famously said, 'They fuck you up, your mum and dad.' Sometimes, it only takes one of them.

The trauma pervaded and persisted in many ways. Since Constantinople was taken on a Tuesday, Christians regarded every Tuesday thereafter as an unpropitious day.

However, in cases of massive trauma at the hands of an enemy, the transgenerational transmission of unfinished psychological processes are generalized and are inevitably involved in strengthening the shared large-group identity and even in modifying it. This is a vast and very important topic that I will examine later in this volume.

Without mourning, in its psychoanalytic sense,113 an apology and forgiveness can neither be given nor received by groups that have been traumatized by others.

Once an event becomes a chosen trauma for the next generations, its historical truth is no longer the crucial issue for the group. What is important is that through sharing the chosen trauma, members of the group are linked together. The chosen trauma as a crucial identity marker becomes significant in the large-group's life.

The actual memories of the trauma belong to adults; children who become reservoirs have no experience with the trauma. Actual memories belonging to one person cannot be transmitted to another person, but an adult can deposit traumatized images into a child's self.

Abuse can make an animal mean.

Vietnam...war...it did something to us. Or maybe not. Maybe the bad seeds were always in me, and war gave them a dark place in which to grow.

By the time this damn war's over, we'll have hundreds of thousands of severely traumatized soldiers trying to put the pieces of their lives back together.

She was sure he saw some spatter of blood or dirt somewhere on her, at her temple or on the back of her hand. There was an almost imperceptible pause; she knew he was waiting for her to look at him, to communicate what had happened, but she just sat there. If she opened her mouth she might start screaming. Or if she looked at him she might cry, might demand to know how it was that children could be shot in the dark for nothing.

Mama wanted to induct Leni into some terrible, silent club to which Leni didn't want to belong. She didn't want to pretend what had happened was normal, but what was she—a kid—supposed to do about it?

She'd rather have nightmares about Randall Flagg or Carrie or Jack Torrance than about her own past.

This is what they have done to us. We are afraid of our own shadows." She

a viciousness that left her bleeding. "Schnell!