Best 1307 quotes in «addiction quotes» category

Memories consume Like opening the wound I'm picking me apart again You all assume I'm safe here in my room Unless I try to start again.

Men are a compilation of every experience and relationship they have ever lived through. Some experiences have bettered your man while others have battered him. The man standing before you is the result of a lifetime of surviving.

Mental slavery is a cheap & easy to find addiction. Knowledge stimulates mental faculties immune system.

Miller se había negado a recurrir a los programas de rehabilitación de adicciones del hospital militar, tal como había rechazado los servicios de un psicólogo especializado en síndromes postraumáticos y ella estuvo plenamente de acuerdo en que esos eran recursos de maricas, había otros métodos más cortos y eficaces. Le vació las botellas en el lavabo, le tiró las drogas al excusado, después lo obligó a desnudarse y se llevó toda su ropa, su computadora, su teléfono y su prótesis. Se despidió de él con una señal optimista de los pulgares hacia arriba y lo dejó encerrado con llave, cojo y en pelotas. Miller debió soportar en frío la tortura de los primeros días de abstinencia, tiritando, alucinando, enloquecido de náuseas, angustia y dolor. Intentó en vano echar abajo la puerta a puñetazos y anudar las sábanas para descender por la ventana, pero estaba en un décimo piso. Golpeó la pared que lo separaba del apartamento de Maggie hasta romperse los nudillos y tanto le castañetearon los dientes. que uno se le quebró. Al tercer día cayó extenuado.

Mindfulness helps us see the addictive aspect of self-criticism— a repetitive cycle of flaying ourselves again and again, feeling the pain anew.

Modest, conventional expectations weren't enough to lure Adam Brown away from the power of drug addiction that ensnared him. Instead, the college dropout already in his mid-twenties found only the big, near-impossible dream of being a Navy SEAL captivating enough to consistently draw him to different choices.

Mom rubbed the back of my neck and we kept walking, away from the kids and the colors and the high-pitched, happy voices. Seeing them made me feel like I was a million miles from anything good. I just got really lonely. I'm not sure why. All those kids smiling and laughing and my mom so fucking clueless and me feeling kinda shitty and high at the same time. All of a sudden, I couldn't figure out what the point was. I couldn't remember what mattered.

Most people are dependent on legal drugs but this is somehow not an obstacle to seeing an enemy in every underground addict.

Most stories are not about people but about life, an addiction like the rest of them that destroys you even as you love it, but you love it anyway and can never get enough.

Motivation may be what starts you off, but it's habit that keeps you going back for more. Are your habits working for you or against you? Are your habits helping you to achieve your goals or hindering the process?

Music gives you a certain high that any drug in the world cannot.

My arm reaches up. I don't know if I'm reaching for the pipe or for him. I want to touch his skin. I want to breathe in what he breathes. The yellow swirl. I want to be the yellow swirl. I want him to breathe me in, be sent riding on oxygen molecules deep into lungs. I want to travel through his body, seeing what makes him happy, attaching myself to whatever place in him sparks to life on my arrival. His blood. His tissues. His muscles. I want to burrow inside the folds like a wind-blown dusting of snow so that each time I melt away, he seeks me out again. There's no delineation between the pipe and the smoke and his body. It's all whole, I want in. I want him. 'Please,' I say softly, 'let me try.' Without letting go of the pipe, he swings his hand holding the lighter with incredible force, backhanding my face. My jaw pops. The lighter swings back under the pipe undulating back and forth, inhaling the curl as it rises from the tar, exactly the same as before he hit me, only now he's staring at me, hating me.

My beautiful, and lovely madness or addiction is to love you.

My blood makes noise. And I’m saying this now, because I have a strange gut feeling that it will be silenced someday soon.

...my disease wanted me dead, but would settle for getting me drunk...

My doctors, who are not cavalier with prescriptions, give me this medication because I have earned their trust. And yet, with mounting government and public pressure, my doctors’ hands are becoming increasingly tied. They apologetically explain to me why they are required to make the medication even harder for me to get, against their own medical judgment. If the day ever comes when they aren’t allowed to prescribe Percocet to me at all, it may well be the end of the minimal quality of life I fight so hard to achieve.

My desire to self-destruct is a one-night stand on Groundhog Day. Fucking repetitive. Repetitively fucking.

My first addiction was to books. -B. Chelsea Adams

Never has nostalgia held stronger sway; never has the belief in the redemptive possibilities of the future seemed so laughable.

My nose bleeds, and every comedown feels like an overdose. I try to make peace with God each time, but he shows no interest, and it reminds me of my dad, and I get so upset that I just have to do another line. Like I said, a cycle.

Needing something is not the same thing as being interested in the thing itself.

My slurred speech isn’t from one or nine drinks too many, it’s from my father.

NANCY LAYNE McCALLUM: An addict and a non-addict don’t think the same — their brains are wired completely differently. Only an addict can help another addict through recovery.

Nobody should be in a position where they are suffering abuse at the hands of another, and if this is the case for you, stopping the abuse by leaving the situation is the only course of action to take.

No drug can give your life purpose, only you can do that.

No one is entitled to anything. Everything we get in this life we have worked for. And sometimes we take on baggage we never even signed up for, but that dosen't mean you deserve it. I wake up everyday wishing I could change things, but I can't change past. All I can do is change the future.

No one can control their results. We can, however, control our attitude. When we practise compassion, it is most effective when it is unconditional and free from seeking an outcome – compassion is a matter of choice rather than a self-seeking action. And so, if we assist another human being from a place of presence and compassion, we are not looking to find our happiness off the back of others’ suffering. Nor are we trying to control them. Compassion is a conscious choice rather than an emotional knee-jerk reaction.

No one wants to be entrapped by his or her addictive habit...

Not feeling is no replacement for reality. Your problems today are still your problems tomorrow

Not all good things are good for us.

Note: addiction diverts attention

Nothing could compare to that sweet buzz—the fire that filled my veins and awakened my dark, broken soul. Nothing else made me feel like I was on top of the world, soaring and dominating, like a wild bird. But someone could. Her.

Nothing is ‘wrong’ with me, Dan. What’s wrong with you? she said in the same eerily quiet voice, dark eyes fixated on Dan, as she breathed heavily.

Nothing worse than someone who goes to the dance, is excited to dance, dances all night, and then complains all the next day about his feet being sore.

Not much more than a broke disgrace who's hooked on tonics, so excuse him if his poker face has puke on it.

Once upon a time the future was supposed to be brighter, shinier and more fun. When did that vision pass? When did the word 'new' lose it's luster? Now the past is supposed to hold the hopes we once confided to the future. We're directing attachments that used to go forward backward.

Oh and P.S.? I am in dire need of more coffee. Industrial strength." "But we're going to sleep soon," I say. "I know." Laila shudders. "Addiction is a bitch.

Once you have known awareness, nothing is worth it-- you have known the greatest bliss of life. Then, suddenly, many things simply drop; they become stupid,become foolish. The motivation is not there,the desire is not there, the dreams have fallen.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Debbie Jacobs and a boy named Teddy Dennis.

One of the characteristics of some drugs (such as cocaine) is that they make a person feel strong and alert—when in fact the opposite is the case. Don’t allow yourself to be deceived.

One of the first actions we take at Passages is to ruthlessly scrutinize, always under a doctor's supervision and care, the specific necessity of any mind- altering or mood-altering medications that our clients are taking. As soon as any non essential drugs are out of their systems, the feelings they were trying to suppress usually emerge. When that happens, we can see what symptoms the client was masking with drugs or alcohol.

One of the most conspicuous modes of escape is alcoholism, which is now a national catastrophe.

One professor from MIT made the passionate plea that we must encourage children to develop the ability to think first, and then give them the computer. After that, the sky's the limit. But if you introduce the computer before the child's thought processes are worked out, then you have a disaster in the making

One who ignores inner awareness and fails to perceive good reason is doomed to the dark days of yesteryear. - David E Love, Author, Dante's Eighth Circle

One thing consumed drugs all have in common, is our initial natural aversion toward them. The first mouthful of alcohol we drink is generally followed by an involuntary grimace. The first puff on a chemical-laden cigarette is followed often by a cough and splutter as the body tries to repel the alien pollution thrust upon it. Our first coffee and tea are generally also greeted somewhat similarly. Of course, it is frequently the case that despite these initial reactions, we push on past them until addiction is formed. Cooked food, although noticeably less recognised as addictive, evokes no less an initial reaction. Think of all those babies whose faces screw up in displeasure vainly attempting rejection of the denatured slop thrust upon them, and the hours spent crying from stomach pains. By the time they are advanced enough to linguistically voice their lack of desire for such foods, they are, alas, already well hooked.

One thing you must realize is that: you either kill your addiction or your addiction will eventually kill you.

Only he who is free with his time is free with his opinion.

Only ten percent of your addiction can be linked back to genetics, the other 90 percent of the problem links back to choices you made.

Our brains are embodied—much of the problem with the debate over addiction and psychiatry more generally is a refusal to accept this and our ongoing need to see “physical,” “neurological,” and “psychological” as completely distinct.

Only when an addict learns to love himself will he feel he’s worth changing.