Quotes About Trauma

I understand what it is to go through emotional trauma and retreat and go into the world of your imagination. I understand how art and music can be a place of safety in a world of reinvention.

Not all forms of abuse leave bruises.

Rape in any form is never okay, no matter who the rapist is.

She was a psychologist specializing in young people recovering from trauma involving spinal cord injuries.

going past her on a gurney, surrounded

If she hadn't been raped, she'd have been expelled by then, according to the school's "one time you're out

In some ways therapists have it harder than surgeons, who can often correct the issue with one operation. There's no quick fix for emotional trauma.

Shaking my head, unable to think clearly, I mouthed the same word over and over: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" I was still mouthing it when they lifted me onto a stretcher and carted me from the Hall.

WARNING: ANY MONEY YOU SAVE BY DOING HOMEOWNER PROJECTS YOURSELF WILL BE OFFSET BY THE COST OF HIRING COMPETENT PROFESSIONALS TO COME AND REMOVE THEM SO YOU CAN SELL YOUR HOUSE, NOT TO MENTION THE EMOTIONAL TRAUMA ASSOCIATED WITH LISTENING TO THESE PROFESSIONALS, AS THEY RIP OUT LARGE CHUNKS OF A PROJECT, LAUGH, AND YELL REMARKS SUCH AS: "HEY! GET A LOAD OF THIS.

That day I wished Mother would have mercy and kill me quickly. As

day I vowed to myself that I would never, ever again give that bitch the satisfaction of hearing me beg her to stop beating me.

Of all Mother's punishments, I hated the gas chamber game the most. Towards

You should be worried, says Hassan. I have seen worse monsters than you, Anderson. I have seen what nobody should see. I have felt what nobody should feel. I know what nobody should know. What would it be to me to see this knife in your throat? Nothing. What would it be for me to see you as dead as this deer? Nothing. What would it be to me to see you lying dead among the jetsam on the beach?

What happened to you as a child, particularly something bad, changed you, absolutely and completely. It was like part of your brain became closed off and refused to mature any further. As an adult you were powerless to fight against it. It was simply who you were until the day you died. There was no "therapy" that could cure it. That wall was built and nothing could tear it down.

And it was a good thing. Because despite all the unsettling things that his mind had been doing while he was here, the ability to be hugged or have your hand clenched by another without flinching, that simple act, which just about everyone else took for granted, had brought Decker a bit closer to the person he had once been. Before he had died on a football field and woken up as someone else entirely.

He would beat the shit out of me for the slightest thing. But it wasn't the fist or the belt that hurt the most." "It was the words," said Reel.

She backed up against a brick wall. Tears sliding down her face, she moaned, "Please, please don't hurt me. I swear I won't tell nobody what you done. I swear to God. Please." Rogers bent down and picked

Time did not heal wounds for him. Not for someone who could never forget. Their murders were as fresh now as when they occurred. Not just the visuals, but also the emotional hatchet attached to the mental images. They would be until the day he died.

He is a true casualty of battle. There's not a physical scar, but look at the man's heart, and his head, and there are scars galore.

You must have been traumatized beyond fucking belief

I called a cab, still in my towel. I jumped in the cab before it had even stopped at the gate. I actually said, The nearest library with a cutting-edge professional grief- and trauma-therapy section, and step on it.

Over half the admits to psych wards are things like cheerleaders who swallow two bottles of Mydol over a high-school breakup or gray lonely asexual depressing people rendered inconsolable by the death of a pet. The cathartic trauma of actually going in somewhere officially Psych-, some understanding nods, some bare indication somebody gives half a damn – they rally, back out they go.

Over half the admits to psych wards are things like cheerleaders who swallow two bottles of Mydol over a high-school breakup or gray lonely asexual depressing people rendered inconsolable by the death of a pet. The cathartic trauma of actually going in somewhere

the feeling that you'd do absolutely anything or say or trade anything to persuade him to simply settle for rape and let you go, or even torture, even willing to bring to the bargaining table a bit of nonlethal torture if only he'd settle for hurting you and choose to drive off and leave you hurt and breathing in the weeds and sobbing at the sky and traumatized beyond all recovery instead of as nothing