Horace Greeley Quotes

I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking.

How sick i am! that thought Always comes to me with horror. Is it this strange for everybody? But such fugitive feelings have always been my metier.

You can’t keep messing me around like this. It’s been going on too long. I can’t take it anymore. I get sick every time you come around. Then I get sick when you leave. You’re like a disease to me.

Being ill like this combines shock - this time I will die - with a pain and agony that are unfamiliar, that wrench me out of myself.

These visits make me sick, and I really think they will make me crazy.

I'm suffering from the worst anxiety. I wake up reeling from panic at 4 A.M.

Look at it this way: There are many here among us for whom the life force is best represented by the livid twitching of one tortured nerve, or even a full-scale anxiety attack. I do not subscribe to this point of view 100 percent, but I understand it, have lived it. Thus the shriek, the caterwaul, the chainsaw gnarlgnashing, the yowl and the whizz that decapitates may be reheard by the adventurous or emotionally damaged as mellifluous bursts of unarguable affirmation.

I can't sleep with you tonight, baby, my head's all messed up, you've no idea. It's somewhere else and it's full of voices and songs and bad things.

I stir in bed and the memories rise out of me like a buzz of flies from a carcass. I crave to be rid of them.

Not for nothing does the neurotic suffer - but not for anything very much, either.

Mattie sat at the table, obsessing, orbiting around herself. She was sick of her worried, hostile mind. It would have killed her long before, she felt, if it hadn't needed the transportation.

But it was not the room’s disorder which was frightening; it was the fact that when one began searching for the key to this disorder, one realized that it was not to be found in any of the usual places. For this was not a matter of habit or circumstance or temperament; it was a matter of punishment and grief.

my brain had begun to endure its familiar siege: panic and dislocation, and a sense that my thought processes were being engulfed by a toxic and unnameable tide that obliterated any enjoyable response to the living world.

Mental wounds not healing, who and what's to blame. I'm going off the rails on a crazy train.

Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear.

At night when I used to sleep, I was thinking all the time that shall I put a knife under my pillow.

The day in 2004 when the radiologist told me I had invasive cancer, I walked down the hospital corridor looking for a phone to call my husband, and I could almost see the fear coming toward me like a big, black shadow.

I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.

I was screaming constantly, on the set, in my room... everywhere.

Like the experience of warfare, the endurance of grave or terminal illness involves long periods of tedium and anxiety, punctuated by briefer interludes of stark terror and pain.

There is just so much hurt, disappointment, and oppression one can take... The line between reason and madness grows thinner.

There's a lot of people out here faking a smile on their face like they got it together but inside actually suffering from some sort of traumatic experience, a loss, depressed, fearful, envious or whatever the case may be, but I can feel it.

I suffer from anxiety.

I hit my head against the wall because I don't want to know all the terrible things that I know about. I don't want to feel all these wretched things, but they're in me already. If I don't get rid of them, I'm not ever going to feel anything else.