Quotes About Catharsis

Fakat ÅŸu da doÄŸru; hikayeler bizi kurtarabilir.

Tears released poisons from inside, poisons which if not released could be as deadly as the real kind. The

And it rained a screaming. And it rained a rawness. And it rained a plasma. And it rained a disorder.

For the first time in her life Mariah knew the benefit, the balm of not keeping blistering memories padlocked in her mind.

Stories aren't facts, Cait, they're not details. Stories are feelings. You've got your feelings, haven't you?" "Too many," I said. "Well, that's all you need." He put his hand on mine. "Cry yourself a story, love. It works. Believe me." So that's what I did, I cried myself a story. And this is it.

My mother always said that you should share your troubles. If you let them out, then they are less likely to burden you, whereas if you keep them inside they fester your blood and taint your soul. (Emily)

sometimes fuck is the only word that will do,

Terminó temblorosa, llorando. Pocas veces lloraba Angustias sinceramente. Siempre el llanto la afeaba, pero éste, espantoso, que la sacudía ahora, no me causaba repugnancia, sino cierto placer. Algo así como ver descargar una tormenta.

When I was done, and bloody to the wrist, I squatted down among the murdered music of the bells and pissed.

I have a mess in my head sometimes, and there's something very satisfying about putting it into words. Certainly it's not something that you're in charge of, necessarily, but writing about it, putting it into your words, can be a very powerful experience.

It seemed to calm me, getting anything that might be chaotic behind the eyes onto the page in front of me where it could do me less harm.

It seemed to calm me, getting anything that might be chaotic behind the eyes onto the page in front of me where it could do me less harm. Along the lines of the saying, "Better out than in," though that refers to vomit. Maybe more like, "Better an empty house than an unhappy tenant." Not that writing on my notepads managed to actually empty my mind—though some would argue—but I was grateful to relieve the overflow.

I think that if I could give a name to what I feel it would go away. Find the word that describes the feeling and say it over and over until it's merely a sound.

Sweat cleanses from the inside. It comes from places a shower will never reach.

For me, painting is a way to forget life. It is a cry in the night, a strangled laugh.

It went on from there. One last, god-awful, no-holds-barred blue; one of those fights where you pour out every poisonous thought you've ever had, the dregs of every grievance, and you set the cup in front of the other person and force them to drink it.

Psychoanalysis is confession without absolution.

It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.

Write something, even if it's just a suicide note.

yourself, from whom you need forgiveness. Once you have completed the letter, you are encouraged to transform it by burning it, burying in, tearing it into pieces, flushing it, or deleting it from your computer. With any of these actions, you are not destroying the letter. Instead, you are transforming it and the energy it carries.

So instead of sucking back some liquid sanity, he smoked the hand rolled down. Then he flicked the stub into the cold fireplace, closed his eyes and cursed three times…

She did nothing to try to control the shakes that rattled her body,and didn't attempt to stop herself from crying. Tears left both of her eyes at the far corners,slipping out and flowing over her temples.Some landed in her ears. Some eased down her neck and were absorbed by the pillow.Others clouded her vision,as if they didn't want to leave home.

Dear Sirs: Do you mind if I let my heart out, splattering all its delicate essences over these following pages?

I'm not this dark, twisted person. Yes, I have my demons and this is my way of exorcising them. It gets them out - and better out than in.