They discovered that even in the face of pain that seems unbearable, even in the face of pain
that wrings the last drop of blood out of your heart and leaves its scrimshaw tracery on the
inside of your skull, life goes on. And pain grows dull, and begins to fade.
Those who have suffered much become very bitter or very gentle.
Thank you for that ray of sunshine. The next time I feel the need to be depressed, I'll
remember to give you a call.
It's okay to be sad sometimes, but it shouldn't take over your life.
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the
stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
Strange, the desire for certain pleasures is a part of my pain.
I was happier being lonely. 'Cause love is the most pain I've ever felt. My heart is
aching and my soul just melts.
You thought you knew what pain was. You thought that whatever happened, you could handle
it. You thought that you were in control. You thought wrong. Now you've lost it all. He's
gone. All that's left is the numbing pain. You have to let go to stop the pain, but you can't.
It's like a drug to you now. You don't want to need it, but it has become a part of you, and it
won't loosen its grip on you. The control you once fought for, is gone. You have no control.
And you just don't care.
Obviously, she should learn a little about reality. True love does not conquer all. How
foolish she is to believe in 'young love.' Stories like that always end in tears. Her romance
certainly did. Seeing young lovers most because it reminds her of her own pain - the pain her
Psyche and her need for blissful passion gave her.
I can't heal your pain, but I can see it. And you don't have to be lost. Not forever.
People tend to think I'm always aggressive and strong. The truth is, I've always been
wracked with self-loathing, which leads me into terrible, self-paralysing depressions. When I go
down to this place, I feel so empty and overwhelmed I can barely move. But perversely, I find
these traits in a man unacceptable - I can't stand someone who can out-depress me. You know that
scene in Babe where the farmer clog-dances for the pig? Sometimes I'm the sick pig and I need a
farmer to cheer me up.
I can be the most sane person and all together in the morning. And then come the evening,
I can be wanting to throw myself off a balcony. Complete change. But right now I have no
balcony. And the windows are locked.
I am the Voice of Suffering and I cannot be consoled.
I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would merely beg you not be too
much bowed down by grief. What seem to us bitter trials at the moment are often blessings in
disguise.
What if to look and see, or just be, supplies too much agony? What if no joy can suffice
or bring to light reason to live or not to die?
Now, I'm depressed. Now, I feel like killing myself, but, luckily, I'm too depressed to bother.
I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle,
and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it.
You can't put a Band-Aid on every boo-boo you've made; some just need time to heal. . .
You just gotta keep going on. Get up, and do your job. Go to work, get through each day,
one day at a time, like that. And you hope that one day, you'll get up and it'll hurt a little
less. You just gotta get through it. You just go on. It's that simple.
It floats around, it's got to land on somebody. It was my turn, that's all. I was in the
path of the tornado. I didn't expect the storm would last as long as it has.
You always smile, but in your eyes your sorrow shows.
And because I am happy and dance and sing, they think they have done me no injury.
Invisible wounds take the longest to heal.
You say you love pain, but you run from it every chance you get.
People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People
talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People
are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to
feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is
something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in
how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you.
Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy
your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.
I'm getting less good at faking it. People and my family are noticing and asking what's
wrong. My friends give me invitations to talk, to cry. I love them for caring, but I want to
run from it. I have lost their language, their facility with words. I am in a new territory and
feel like a foreigner in theirs.
Relieve the distress of my heart, free me from my sufferings.
It is so much easier to tell others what to do with their problems than to stand with them
in their pain.
I'm sorry if my heart breaking ruined your day.
I liked the shifting colors of groups on the courtyard, but could not distinguish between
one student from the next. They were too young and undamaged, sure of themselves. To them, pain
was a country they had heard of, maybe watched a show about on t.v., but one whose stamp had not
yet been made in their passports. Where could I find a place where my world connected to theirs?
In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be
scars. What was the point of just being hurt on the inside? I thought of the girl with the scar
tattooes at the Crenshaw group home. She was right, it should bloody well show.
Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.
Was she suffering now? I really couldn't say.
How vast was a human being's capacity for suffering. The only thing you could do was
stand in awe of it. It wasn't a question of survival at all. It was the fullness of it, how
much could you hold, how much could you care.
The mind was so thin, barely a spiderweb, with all it's fine thoughts, aspirations, and
beliefs of its own importance. Watch how easily it unravels, evaporates under the first lick of
pain.
I hurt, therefore I am.
If suffering alone taught, then all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers.
And mark in every face I meet. Marks of weakness marks of woe.
Every heart hath its own ache.
I don't want the cheese, I just want to get out of the trap.
