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Human as meat, human as object, human as tool. A person’s value is proportional to their bank balance. Our society seems to think it’s okay to look down on the poor. And when you’re constantly broke and beaten down, you start to think money’s the only thing that matters. The more ur knocked down, the more you cling to money, hoping it can put you back together. It’s messed up, yeah, but that’s how it is

“Why should she keep working to prove her love for me? When will she be allowed to rest? I was her burden, all because my future required money.”

You and I will be together until the day we die.
And even when we’re not, we’ll be together.
What do they call this feeling? It was bigger than ‘love’, but love was the closest thing to it. It clung to our skin and spirits, surviving us even in death.”

“Gu and I were once separate entities.
Then one day, a droplet of emotion fell and swelled until it became big enough to bridge the chasm between us. It made us complete, like cartilage cushioning bones, like a long-missing puzzle piece clicking perfectly into place.

“I used to think death was the end, but my mind is still here. I wish I could take the burden of my body with me and leave her only my heart. I wish she could eat my love for her.”

“Maybe, I thought, I’ll find out when I die.
Maybe all those questions will finally find answers.
But what do I know, really? Turns out we’re as clueless in death as in life. The only difference is the dead don’t agonise over the unknown.”

“To suffer is to experience physical or emotional pain.
There can be no love without suffering.”

“ Is it so sinful to not know something?
— Sometimes what you need is time, not an easy answer. The things you don’t understand now will start to make sense in time. Ignorance isn’t a sin, but impatience can be.”

“Some secrets are better left undiscovered. Thinking too much only messes with you and brings on headaches. You might end up questioning your entire existence.”

“One of the hardest things about recovery is coming to terms with the fact that you can’t trust your brain anymore. In fact, you need to understand that your brain has become your own worst enemy. It will steer you toward bad choices, override logic and common sense, and warp your most cherished memories into impossible fantasies.”

“False memories are common among addicts. He says an addict’s brain will “remember” happy fantasies so we can avoid dwelling on real memories—all the shameful things we did to get high, all the shitty ways we hurt good people who loved us.”

Over time you would lose contact with the origins of your trauma, dissociate the roots of its cause, and forget. But one day, all the hurt and anger would burst forth, like fire from a dragon’s belly—and you’d pick up a gun.”

the emotional effects of psychological wounds on children, and how they manifest themselves later in adults. Imagine it—hearing your father, the very person you depend upon for your survival, wishing you dead. How terrifying that must be for a child, how traumatizing—how your sense of self-worth would implode, and the pain would be too great, too huge to feel, so you’d swallow it, repress it, bury it.

A tormented, abused child can never take revenge in reality, as she is powerless and defenseless, but she can—and must—harbor vengeful fantasies in her imagination. Rage, like fear, is reactive.

No one is born evil. As Winnicott put it, “A baby cannot hate the mother, without the mother first hating the baby.” As babies, we are innocent sponges, blank slates, with only the most basic
needs present: to eat, shit, love, and be loved. But something goes wrong, depending on the circumstances into which we are born, and the house in which we grow up.

Sometimes it’s hard to grasp why the answers to the present lie in the past. A simple analogy might be helpful: a leading psychiatrist in the field of sexual abuse once told me she had, in thirty years of extensive work with pedophiles, never met one who hadn’t himself been abused as a child.

When I’m around other people, even if it’s only the bored waitress in here, I feel connected to the world somehow, like a human being. Otherwise I’m in danger of ceasing to exist. Like I might disappear.

“the pain of not being loved”—I saw how it pervaded my entire
consciousness and was at once the story of my past, present, and future.
it was about my father, and my childhood feelings of abandonment; my grief for everything I never had and, in my heart, still believed I never would have

There are many easily identified signs that a person is lying, especially
if they are an unskilled liar. It’s almost too easy to spot them:
Liars fidget. The tone of their voice or speech patterns changes.
Liars offer too much information, babbling on with excessive detail to
convince themselves or others of what they are saying.

beauty is less easily perceived when it’s in an unassuming setting

Once you experience a terrible trauma and understand the world from an
extreme perspective, it is difficult to overcome this perspective. Because your verysurvival depends on it

“Cursing others leads to two graves. Anyone who curses another person is sure to end up in a grave themselves."

People don’t know each other at all,
really. It’s possible to have a completely mistaken view of someone,
consider him your best friend, and even, when he dies, deliver a tearful
eulogy, all without ever having known who he truly was.

I was afraid even of God, unable to believe in divine love, able only to believe in divine punishment. Faith. To me, that meant simply facing God’s judgment seat with head bowed, prepared to accept his chastisement. I could believe in hell, but not in the existence of heaven.

“Women just take one look at you and immediately they are beside themselves, wanting to do something for you. "You’re timid, and yet you’re funny.”

“Sometimes you sit alone, brooding, but that only makes a woman’s heart yearn to help you all the more."

I have a suffocating dread of sudden changes, the sort that spoil the atmosphere. I am so desperate to please that more often than not I add a word of embellishment, however warped, feeble or stupid it may be, and even knowing that doing so will work against me in the long run.

“When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window"

people around me shut down my ability to trust anyone. Even my parents sometimes acted in
ways I found hard to understand. And I think the loneliness I embraced, unable to confide in anyone, gave off a scent that women picked up instinctively, and this was one reason why in later years I was taken advantage of in so many ways.

Whenever someone asked me what I wanted, my mind went blank. I would have the distinct thought that it didn’t matter, that nothing would make me happy anyway. But when I received something not to my liking, I was incapable of rejecting it. I couldn’t come out and say I didn’t like it. Things I liked, I tasted with bitter fear, as if I were a thief, and then endured nameless dread.