Quotes About Struggle

I am broken and no one can fix it

The happy times went away for a while, but they're coming back

It's true, after all, at least compared to him, and actually what he means is that I have bad luck with women. Something about going for the bitchy ones or the crazy ones or the ones who pretend not to know me when other people are around.

Writing is so difficult that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment hereafter.' 

You're no hero. You're a coward. You only saved them from yourself.

The thing I don't say is: I want to stay alive. the reason I don't say it is because, given that fat folder in front of him, he'd never believe it. And here's something else he'd never believe--I'm fighting to be here in this [crappy], messed-up world. Standing on the ledge of the bell tower isn't about dying. It's about having control. It's about never going to sleep again.

Trapped behind the wall I've built around myself, unable to move or breathe or do anything but keep building it up around me, brick by brick, fast as I can.

I wanted to write something tough, hard, sad, but funny.

And then I go up to my room, climb onto a chair, and contemplate the mechanics of hanging.

I can only tell you how I felt. Ugly. disgusting. Stupid. Small. Worthless. Forgotten. It just feels like there's no choice. Like it's the most logical thing to do because what else is there? You think, No one will even miss me. They won't know I'm gone. The world will go on, and it won't matter that I'm not here. Maybe it's better if I was never here.

In that moment, I'm thankful I'm not a parent and I wonder if I ever will be. What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.

I'm Fading, Maybe I'm Gone Already.

Worthless. Stupid. These are the words I grew up hearing. They're the words I try to outrun, because if I let them in, until the only thing left of me is worthless stupid worthless stupid worthless stupid freak. And then there's nothing to do but run harder and fill myself with other words...

He knows as well as I do what the Why is. It's everything changing when I was ten. It's the bullying and the fear. So much fear of everything, but mostly death. Sudden, out-of-the-blue death. It's also me being terrified of life. It's the giant emptiness in my chest. It's touching my face or my skin and feeling nothing. This is the Why of me staying home in the first place. And the Why of me eating. And the Why of me ending up here. But that doesn't mean I want to die.

With face blindness, I seem to constantly lose the people I love.

I don't want to hear about the cardinal again. Because the thing of it is, that cardinal was dead either way, whether he came inside or not. Maybe he knew it, and maybe that's why he decided to crash into the glass a little harder than normal that day. He would have died in here, only slower, because that's what happens when you're a Finch. The marriage dies. The love dies. The people fade away. I

You deserve better. I can't promise you I'll stay around, not because I don't want to. It's hard to explain. I'm a fuckup. I'm broken, and no one can fix it. I've tried. I'm still trying. I can't love anyone because it's not fair to anyone who loves me back.

Tell her what she wants to hear. But I don't because suddenly I can't do it anymore. She's exhausting and I'm exhausting, and we're exhausting. I've been telling her what she wants to hear for the past four years.

I meant what I said to Embryo about drugs. We don't mix. What it comes down to for me is I have a hard enough time keeping control over my brain without something else getting in the way.

We tread water, looking at each other, and suddenly there's not enough water in the world to clean away my dirt thoughts.

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery—always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?

Worthless. Stupid. These are the words I grew up hearing. They're the words I try to outrun, because if I let them in, they might stay there and grow and fill me up and in, until the only thing left of me is worthless stupid worthless stupid worthless stupid freak. And then there's nothing to do but run harder and fill myself with other words: This time will be different. This time, I will stay awake.

What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.

The fact is, I was sick, but not in an easily explained flu kind of way. It's my experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting, and for the millionth time in my life I wish for measles or smallpox or some other recognizable disease just to make it simple for me and also for them.