Quotes About Addiction

She is like a child picking at a scab, unable to stop herself even though she knows it will hurt.

La soledad es peligrosa. Es adictiva. Una vez que te das cuenta de cuanta paz hay en ella, no quieres lidiar con la gente.

If only sugar were medicine! I should take it every day.

sought professional help for her addiction, as well

Learning is one addiction I don't mind admitting to. In fact, I celebrate it.

I used food as a coping mechanism for many, many years, and it was my best friend for a long time.

I always think I am one of the millions and millions of people that struggles with an addiction to food. I don't know how to relax, that's my problem.

Unlike in 1981, when Reagan had indicated that treatment for addicts was the route he would take, his speeches and policies now became focused on enforcement, criminals, and harsh, no-mercy punishment.

I've become a kissing addict. I think that's it. The buzzy feeling. Burning lips. The foggy eyes. Maybe i could kiss every good-looking guy here at school. Maybe even the good-looking male teachers. The thought warms me and troubles me at the same time.

Over time, alcohol seeps into your soul. It changes you—what you care about, what you are capable of. It rots you from the inside. It can alienate you from love itself.

yellow fingers because he smoked a lot. And he danced

He's been to rehab, which is a travesty; you can tell by his smug face that he's not capable of genuine addiction.

Lullabies for Suffering Tales of Addiction Horror

I always look at the list of viewers and do you know what it was like to look at that list and see your name less and less?' FUCKING INSTAGRAM AND NO ONE SHOULD LOOK AT THAT FUCKING LIST.

He snorts more cocaine. I could pull over and roll him out the door but he's on so much blow right now that he would probably just turn into a roadrunner, catch up to me, and jump back in.

I wanted to cut for the cut itself, for the delicate severing of capillaries, the transgression of veins. I needed to cut the way your lungs scream for air when you swim the length of the pool underwater in one breath. It was a craving so organic it seemed to have arisen from my skin itself. Imagining the sticky-slick scarlet trails of my own blood soothed me. This

It didn't occur to me that there was something decidedly odd in finding a box of razor blades aesthetically appealing. I wonder if a heroin addict loves the elegant simplicity of the needle, if a drinker romances the curve and shape of the bottle.

Recovering alcoholics often talk about drinking "the way they wanted to" when they were alone, drinking without the feeling of social restraint they might have had at a party or in a restaurant. There's something almost childlike about the need, and about the language we use to describe it: wanting our bottles, wanting to crawl into that dark room in our minds and curl up and be alone with our object of security.

I drank when I was happy and I drank when I was anxious and I drank when I was bored and I drank when I was depressed, which was often.

Of course, there is no simple answer. Trying to describe the process of becoming an alcoholic is like trying to describe air. It's too big and mysterious and pervasive to be defined. Alcohol is everywhere in your life, omnipresent, and you're both aware and unaware of it almost all the time; all you know is you'd die without it

and there is no simple reason why this happens, no single moment, no physiological event that pushes a heavy drinker across a concrete line into alcoholism. It's a slow, gradual, insidious, elusive becoming.

The knowledge that some people can have enough while you never can is the single most compelling piece of evidence for a drinker to suggest that alcoholism is, in fact, a disease, that it has powerful physiological roots, that the alcoholic's body simply responds differently to liquor than a nonalcoholic's.

Drinking alone is what you do when you can't stand the feeling of living in your own skin. Boswell describes this in his Life of Johnson: "I drink alone," Johnson explains, "to get rid of myself, to send myself away. Wine makes a man better pleased with himself.

a true alcoholic is someone who's turned from a cucumber into a pickle; you can try to stop a cucumber from turning into a pickle, but there's no way you can turn a pickle back into a cucumber.