Regain My Sanity Quotes

I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’m sure I can repeat them exactly.” —Peter Cook

I tend to divide cheaters into two camps. Those who attempt remorse and those who step over your crumpled, sobbing body and go fix themselves a Hot Pocket. The Hot Pocket cheaters usually sleep like babies too, totally untroubled by their betrayals. In my opinion, the Hot Pocket cheaters are sociopaths. No adaptive anxiety, they’re totally chill and indifferent to your agony.

We reach the trailer and Shane digs through the pockets of the cargo pants slung over his arm until he finds the key. He pushes open the door and waits for me to pass through. Maybe later I’ll tell myself I should have thought long and hard about what I was going to do, that I should have counted to ten and waited until I regained my sanity before stepping over the threshold, evaluated the pros and cons like a thoughtful, rational adult. But I do no such thing. Shane’s eyes are on mine as I step out of my wet sneakers, drop my damp clothes in a ball on the porch, and walk inside. He follows right behind me, and even through my wet shirt I can feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. The man is a furnace. Every warning about playing with fire zings through my mind, but I dismiss them. I want this. I’m not playing games, and neither is Shane as he grips my shoulders and turns us so my back is to the door and he’s pressed up against me. He lowers his head so our eyes are inches apart and looks at me more closely and thoughtfully than anyone ever has. He’s checking to make sure I’m okay, that my expectations are in line with what today is about. And they are. Just once, we agreed. And that will be enough.

I would never regain any memories of this seizure, or the ones to come. This moment, my first serious blackout, marked the line between sanity and insanity. Though I would have moments of lucidity over the coming weeks, I would never again be the same person. This was the start of the dark period of my illness, as I began an existence in purgatory between the real world and a cloudy, fictitious realm made up of hallucinations and paranoia. From this point on, I would increasingly be forced to rely on outside sources to piece together this “lost time.

The parts of me that need sanity are whispering one more taste is all I will need to finally regain my faculties. The parts already lost to you remind me a single taste of you is what brought me here, and to take more of you will be diving into my undoing. Knowing I'll never be able to get enough. You're a drug. I'm so thoroughly addicted, I can't see through the high you bring me to realize I can't exist without you anymore.

I was forced to be sober, at least until I figured out how to work the system. The process of regaining my mind made me feel as if I were losing it. Drugs were my coping mechanism, my source of confidence, my sanity.

my hope is that someday, when humanity regains its sanity, people will know that the only way to be saved from barbarianism is by love: loving books, loving people, and, though you may call me crazy, loving our enemies. There’s no doubt that love is the most revolutionary choice and, therefore, the most persecuted and reviled. Augustine of Hippo’s thrilling phrase still reverberates in my ears: “Love, and do what you will.