Shoe Addiction Quotes

I took my time, running my fingers along the spines of books, stopping to pull a title from the shelf and inspect it. A sense of well-being flowed through me as I circled the ground floor. It was better than meditation or a new pair of shoes- or even chocolate. My life was a disaster, but there were still books. Lots and lots of books. A refuge. A solace. Each one offering the possibility of a new beginning.

I think things ultimately work out the way they're supposed to, even if it's not always the most comfortable, cushy way.

I think its better to do whatever is going to make you feel the most peaceful and happy. - Shoe Addicts Anonymous

Don't ever think you're better than a drug addict, because your brain works the same as theirs. You have the same circuits. And drugs would affect your brain in the same way it affects theirs. The same thought process that makes them screw up over and over again would make you screw up over and over as well, if you were in their shoes. You probably already are doing it, just not with heroin or crack, but with food or cigarettes, or something else you shouldn't be doing.

Trust that things do work out by themselves sometimes.

I can no longer cry. I groan a few times. Through the slits that are my eyes, I stare at my shoes, at the gray swirls of the concrete floor, at the bright orange lid of my syringe. And I realize—it’s a kind of horror—that this is my life. And I can’t stop. I just can’t stop. I can’t stop anymore.

Tragedy, no matter how sad, becomes boring to those not caught in its addictive caress.

I'll give them my number, too. And my brother Vishous made sure we have the best reception and service in the city. No dead zones. Unless you're around Lassiter, and that's more of a mental thing than anything about cellular networks." "Um ... Lassiter?" Bitty said. Rhage nodded. "Yeah, he's this pain in the ass--oh, shit--I mean, sorry, I shouldn't say ass around you, should I? Or shit. And all those other bad words." He poked himself in the head. "I gotta remember that, gotta remember that. Anyway, Lassiter's a fallen angel who we've somehow gotten stuck with. He's like gum on the bottom of your shoe. 'Cept he doesn't smell like strawberries, he hogs the T.V. remote, and on a regular basis. you think to yourself, Is that really the best the Creator could do with an immortal? The guy has the worst taste in television--I mean, the only saving grace is that he isn't addicted to Bonanza ...have you ever watched twelve straight hours of Saved by the Bell? Okay, fine, it was probably only seven, and it wasn't like I couldn't have left--my God, I tell you, though, it's a wonder I escaped with my ability to put my pants on one leg at a time still intact ...

The room they had reached served as an impromptu drug-lounge in which a hundred naked addicts engaged in communal sex. One of them drew nearer and spontaneously relieved himself all over Aurora’s shoes. ‘You’re welcome,’ the addict said proudly, buttoning up his soiled jeans and walking away like a champ. A nearby woman saw the whole thing and smirked. ‘You’re one lucky lady, you know that?’ she smiled toothlessly. The remnants of today’s orgy were still visible in her mouth. ‘I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.

Here is a postcard from the other side: fame, luxury items and glamour are not real and cannot solve you, whether it’s a pair of shoes, a stream of orgies, a movie career or global adulation. They are just passing clouds of imaginary pleasure.

Whatever. If I don’t get off, then you don’t get off either. You’ll be suffering as much as I will.” He drops my shoe onto the floor and arches his brow at me. “Is that right?” “Yes,” I state with a clipped tone. My other shoe gets tossed over his shoulder, but I don’t care where because all my attention is drawn down to his hands as he works his cock free and begins stroking it. I gasp and reach out for it, my mouth watering at the sight. “Oh, my God. Let me do that.” “No.” He lets his khakis slide down to mid-thigh as he stares at my body, his hand working his glorious cock. I’ve never seen Reese jerk off before, and I’m kicking myself for never requesting that he do it in front of me. This is insanely hot, probably one of the hottest things to witness. His upper body is flexed completely, every muscle bulging out at me, screaming for my hands. And then there’s his cock.

I want you to stop taking cracker dust." "And he says it isn't a righteous streak," Andrew mused, more to himself than to Neil. "If it was righteousness I'd ask you to give up drinking and smoking, too," Neil said. "I'm only asking for this one thing. It doesn't have any effect on you anyway and it's an unnecessary risk. You don't need a third addiction." "I don't need anything," Andrew reminded him, right on cue. "If you don't need it, it'll be easy to give it up," Neil said. "Right?" Andrew thought it over a minute, then flicked his cigarette at Neil. It singed the material where it bounced off his shirt. Neil ground it out under his shoe when it hit the asphalt. The cool look he flicked Andrew was wasted; Andrew's gaze had already drifted past him in search of something more interesting. "I'm going to take your temper tantrum as a yes," Neil said. "I'll bring the money by your room tonight.

A drunk [once] said to me, "Drugs and alcohol are not our problem, reality is our problem; drugs and alcohol are our solution to that problem." [...] Aren't we all, in one way or another, trying to find a solution to the problem of reality? If I get this job, this girl, this guy, these shoes. If I pass this exam, eat this pizza, drink this booze, go on this holiday. [...] Isn't there always some kind of condition to contentment? Isn't it always placed in the future, wrapped up in some object, either physical or ideological?

What is stealing?When is it excusable? When is it a crime?' Thomas looked uncomfortable as he read. Christian perked up. Belle saw Christian listening with interest and looked down at her shoes. 'An action becomes stealing when one of two conditions are met. First, when there is harm to the victim. Second, when the act is done for personal gain.' Thomas looked up and smiled. He seemed happy with where the speech was going, and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. Christian's face had gone white. He stood frozen in his spot. Belle smiled as if to say that things were different with him. That stealing was different in their world. She was torn between excitement for Thomas and embarasment for Christian. 'If both these criteria are met, there is no question where society stands. When of two criteria is in question, society begins to debate. For example, is it wrong when someone takes something that has been thrown away? Perhaps not, since there is no detriment to the victim. Is it wrong when someone takes a loaf of bread to feed a starving baby or taxes the rich to help the poor? Perhaps not, since the motive is unselfish.' Victoria wasn't even looking at Thomas anymore. She was glaring at Belle. She looked like she was about to lunge at her. Belle signaled to her that perhaps she should take notes. But Victoria wasn't used to preparing rebuttals without advanced notice. 'When neither of the criteria is met, however, I propose that there is no crime against ethics. Is it wrong to take a syringe from a drug addict? Of course not.

Add Healthy Coping Mechanisms Regardless of how much work we do to heal our root issues, we will always need to deal with life, people, our family, assholes, emotions, pain, disappointment, anxiety, depression, loss, grief, and stress. So we need to not only work on the root causes and break the cycle of addiction, but also to replace our crappy coping mechanisms with healthy and constructive ones. Some examples of healthy coping mechanisms are: breathing techniques, spiritual practices, essential oils, chants and sound therapies, supplements, meditations, positive affirmations, and so on. We need to learn how to incorporate these healthy substitutes—not just know what we “should do.” We need to create an existence where we naturally and impulsively reach for something that builds us up or reinforces us or heals us (a poem or mantra, a meditation, a cup of hot water with lemon) instead of something that just takes us down further (a cigarette, a text to an abusive ex-lover, a bottle of wine, a new pair of shoes we can’t afford).

We as a people have become so addicted to DYSFUNCTION that we don't recognize PEACE (man or woman) when it enters our energetic space. We call PEACE soft, too nice, pushover, doormat and other names because PEACE respects you. PEACE cares about & for you. PEACE doesn't want to argue, PEACE speaks it's mind with healthy discussion & at the end of the day, PEACE says I Love you. PEACE keeps their word. PEACE enjoys spending time with you & treating you better than anyone else ever has but because of our addiction, we say this is too good to be true. We wait for the other shoe to drop. We check PEACE phone, follow PEACE home or just dismiss PEACE altogether because something just ain't right!" LEAVE that phone alone, STOP looking for a reason, and CHANGE your mindset. "Once you have begun down this new path, your vibrations will change & PEACE will start to walk with you, YOU will attract his siblings-Love, Joy, Kindness, Happiness & your relationships will become everything you inwardly desired but secretly believed you were not worthy of attaining.

Some addictions are clear. The homeless woman with the fresh track marks over years of scars. The man who loses his home and car to gambling debts and now is hiding from dangerous creditors. Some addictions are softer, easier to engage in and still get up and function every day. Those of us who take out a bag of chips or tray of muffins after a tough day. Or go shoe shopping for our 8th pair of black sandals that we are never going to wear. There are addictions that excuse us from society altogether, those that keep us barely afloat within it, and those that become a barrier between us and the rest of the world. It’s only a matter of degree, in the end. How do we define when we cross over into addiction territory? As a relationally-trained therapist, my answer is a simple one. When our addiction becomes our primary relationship. Maybe not in our hearts and heads. But in our behaviors, definitely. When we don’t have control over our addictions, we are spending time, resources, and energy on the addiction instead of the people we love. And instead of, let’s face it…ourselves.

Have you ever been swept away by a toxic lover who sucked you dry? I have. Bad men used to light me up like a Christmas tree. If I had a choice between the rebel without a cause and a nice guy in a sweater and outdoorsy shoes, you can imagine who got my phone number. Rebels and rogues are smooth (and somewhat untamed); they know the headwaiters at the best steak houses, ride fast European motorcycles, and start bar fights in your honor. In short, the rebel makes you feel really alive! It’s all fun and games until he screws your best friend or embezzles your life’s savings. You may be asking yourself how my pathetic dating track record relates to your diet. Simple. The acid—alkaline balance, which relates to the chemistry of your body’s fluids and tissues as measured by pH. The rebel/rogue = acid. The nice solid guy = alkaline. The solid guy gives you energy; he’s reliable and trustworthy. The solid guy calls you back when he says he will. He helps you clean your garage and does yoga with you. He’s even polite to your family no matter how whacked they are, and has the sexual stamina to rock your world. While the rebel can help you let your hair down, too much rebel will sap your energy. In time, a steady rebellious diet burns you out. But when we’re addicted to bad boys (junk food, fat, sugar, and booze), nice men (veggies and whole grains) seem boring. Give them a chance!

Friedrich Nietzsche got pretty hung up on the notion of human will; really all he needed were some running shoes, Lycra and a place in the Berlin Marathon.

The first step in the mental training is to become the master of external things. He who is addicted to worldly pleasures, however learned or ignorant he may be, however high or low his social position may be, is a servant to mere things. He cannot adapt the external world to his own end, but he adapts himself to it. He is constantly employed, ordered, driven by sensual objects. Instead of taking possession of wealth, he is possessed by wealth. Instead of drinking liquors, he is swallowed up by his liquors. Balls and music bid him to run mad. Games and shows order him not to stay at home. Houses, furniture, pictures, watches, chains, hats, bonnets, rings, bracelets, shoes—in short, everything has a word to command him. How can such a person be the master of things? To Ju (Na-kae) says: "There is a great jail, not a jail for criminals, that contains the world in it. Fame, gain, pride, and bigotry form its four walls. Those who are confined in it fall a prey to sorrow and sigh for ever." To

The cost was the life of the eternal, immortal, invisible God, the One who created everything, made us, and gave us His word to guide us. This was the God we rejected in order to do our own thing, and each go our own way. He who is a trillion times bigger than us entered knowingly into our shoes, although we are a trillion times smaller than a speck of dust in comparison. He made Himself like us, weak, frail, and puny so He could die in our place. He did this to give us hope for our future, an eternal hope that extends even beyond the veil of this life.

For most of the year I wore no shoes. This Higher Power was my guide, but it seemed to be just as confused about the world as I was. Eventually, I realized that my Higher Power was an ethereal nothingness. It was a collection of lofty ideas that, although beautiful, were not capable of contradicting me, reshaping my paradigms, or defining reality for me. It was a god that appealed to my own sensibilities; it was as ever-changing and subjective as my own mind.

Rays of sunshine beamed through the narrow slit at the top of the canyon walls and straight down into the deep shadows of the caverns. It pierced the darkness and, in some strange, fantastical way, the two seemed to make one another more beautiful. The dark and light complemented each other, not in the way that the right shoes complement an appropriately suited outfit, but in the way that life complements death. Without one, you simply can’t have the other. Maybe God was doing something like that in my life, too?

We went as far as we could until finally the canyon ended at a soft, smooth wall of sandstone that shot abruptly skyward. I immediately took my shoes off, gripped my hands and toes like a chameleon into the porous sandstone wall and began scaling the slippery surface. As I climbed, I turned my gaze upward and fixed it where I wanted to go. At that moment, and from that particular vantage point, I could see the hole in the ceiling through which the light entered the canyon. I smiled as I realized that the walls of the shaft curved up into the shape of a heart around me. As the sun glistened down the column, it beamed like a heart made of sunshine. It was God’s heart, and it was enveloping me.

It took another full day before we made it to an outdoors store that sold shoes. In the meantime, I developed a sickness that crept through my body like a puppy going to town on its owner’s slippers. I should’ve known that something was wrong when I found small fragments of my stuffing sprawled everywhere, but that was quite a bit before the fever, chills, and aches set in.

Generally speaking, an addiction requires some physiological dependence for diagnosis. Problems with sexual activity tend to be labeled as a process addiction, which means there is no involvement of a substance that creates a literal physical dependency (like alcohol, nicotine, and other drugs), but the behavior itself has addictive qualities. When the brain lights up in the process of doing something like shoe shopping or gambling, it’s easy to see the reward circuit being activated in a way it doesn’t for someone who doesn’t share that process addiction.

Nice job, nineteen.” With my hands gripped to the edge of my box, I look down to find Kennedy, wearing our team polo and those shoes I bought and married her in. “Nice shoes.” “Thanks for that, by the way,” she says. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what a good boy I am for not getting in a fist fight with your brother?” “You want me to call you a good boy?”  “Mmm, yes, please. Preferably while we’re naked and you’re on top of me, but now would do too.” That smile I’m quickly becoming addicted to blooms. “I’ll keep that in mind.

Someone as locked down and in control as Jeter was probably not much tempted by gambling and recreational drugs. (His only admitted addiction is the nicely self-deprecating one of too much movie watching. “During the off-season, I go to the movies almost every day,” he’s told reporters. “You hear about women buying shoes? I buy DVDs. I definitely have a problem.”)

With dopamine it’s the craving; that’s the thing that drives you, not the actual shoe. It’s the chase – the thrill of the hunt driven on by cues in the environment that predict the next shoe around the corner. Dopamine does not always generate pleasure but impels you to seek rewards. You can be a very unhappy addict. If,

If you want to establish a habit of going for a walk every day, make it easy for yourself! Schedule your walk at the same time every day. Set an exact amount of time you want to spend walking (e.g., 5, 15, 30, or 45 minutes). Then, be sure to get your shoes ready before your scheduled time, lay out your clothes, and have a water bottle ready. This will make it much easier to convince yourself to go – all you need to do is change, and you’re out the door. Prepping the pain points that require effort reduces friction and, therefore, resistance. If you stack these habits with some existing habits that form the structure of your day (discussed in chapter six) they are even more likely to become automatic. This process of removing potential obstacles before performing a new habit is called addition by subtraction. Humans are biologically addicted to convenience. Remember the primal cravings that drive

The current socio-political climate, exacerbated by the media's addiction to falsifying our existence, has meant that being trans/non-binary/gender non-conforming in the twenty-first century feels like constantly trying to prove your existence... When we have to venture into the world, where we aren't heard, or listened to, it can feel like we are shouting against the wind.

Rishi found a bag of catnip. He placed it on Marcus’ shoe and basically screamed. “No way. You have an addiction,” Marcus snapped. Rishi hissed and swiped at Marcus’ shoe. He sighed and subconjured the catnip.

In compassionate adepts, the brain’s insula begins to enlarge. The insula makes us aware of our internal emotional states and raises our level of attention to their signals. It also has rich connections to the heart and other visceral organs, allowing it to track and integrate signals coming from the body. In empathetic people, the insula responds strongly to the distress of others, just as though we were suffering ourselves. Activation of the temporoparietal junction (TPJ) indicates that we can see things from the perspective of another person. This allows us to put ourselves in their shoes and take their needs into consideration. 6.10. Empathy is a neurological event, not simply an emotional state. There’s a part of the anterior cingulate that lights up only when we’re contemplating actions that help others. It isn’t activated by outcomes that favor only us. This region is also associated with impulse control and decision-making; we can choose win-win options rather than the desire-driven cravings of the nucleus accumbens. When adepts are confronted by the suffering of others, the premotor cortex lights up. This means that the brain hasn’t just noticed the distress of a fellow being; it’s getting ready to take action. In experienced meditators, the nucleus accumbens shrinks. This structure, which we looked at in Chapter 3, is active in desire and addiction. Deactivation of the nucleus accumbens through empathetic connection equates to a weakening of self-centered attachment. Calming our emotions and focusing our attention, we’re no longer driven by our wants and compulsions, and the brain circuitry associated with this part of the reward circuit begins to wither. When training people in EcoMeditation retreats, I focus on the Empathy Network only after the first three networks are active. First I have them focus on self, then on just one other person. Only after that do we expand our compassion to the universal scale. That’s because thinking about other people can easily take us into mind wandering. People I love, people I don’t, and the things that happened to cause those feelings. Trying to be compassionate toward people who harmed us can lead us out of Bliss Brain. So I activate the Empathy Network only after the Attention Network is engaged. BRAIN CHANGE IS LIFE CHANGE The fact that blissful states, practiced consistently, become blissful traits is a profound gift to us human beings. It means that we aren’t condemned to live in the Caveman Brain with which evolution endowed us. That practice can evolve our brains, some parts slowly, some parts quickly, is a remarkable innovation.

Is there a scale for sanity? Was I ever really insane? How insane had I been? For years I'd held onto the label of insanity as both a medal of freedom and a scarlet letter. Insanity granted me permission to do as I felt. If I wanted to take my shoes off and jump in puddles in the parking lot of a grocery store, I could. I wasn't scared of the world around me and I wasn't scared of others. Insanity had granted me permission to run through the rain naked. Insanity had also locked me in dark rooms for days. Insanity added weight to my body and then starved me. Insanity ruined friendships and relationships. Insanity gave me an excuse to not apologize. Insanity has a duality we don't discuss. I decided somewhere between Cuba and Spain that we all have a little insanity in us.

I'm not going to steal whatever's in your closet, Hermes." "If you could have stolen my winged sandals, wouldn't you?" "To avoid you? Yes," said Dionysus. "Rude," said Hermes as he turned the wheel, pulling open the door to reveal a massive closet with shelves upon shelves of shoes. "Please tell me you only have one shoe closet," said Dionysus. "Okay," said Hermes. "Fuck me," Dionysus groaned. "Don't judge me," said Hermes. "I have an obsession." "Don't you mean addiction?" "Tomato, potato," he said.

Hear the good news. Whatever your story: The hurt you can’t let go of. The gossip and backbiting and double-talk. The forgiveness you withheld until it was too late. The doubts that linger. The disappointments you still resent. The relationship you let fester. The lies you tell to shroud your addiction. The truth you’re too cowardly to come out with. The handout you withheld. The frustration that others aren’t as faithful as you. The gift you gave with strings attached. The if-bombs you throw down as conditions of your love. The prodigal you won’t welcome home. The prejudice. The self-righteousness and sanctimony that feels good for a second—especially when it’s about politics—but then it sticks on you like a bad smell on your shoe. The secret you keep hidden in the dark corner closet of your heart. Whatever your story—what story? Christ Jesus has set you free from that story by becoming that story for you.

That was when Ryder walked in, carrying the mongrel in question. "A squirter and a shoe addict. Seems this one's a true lady." This time, it was Brook's turn to be caught with nothing at all to say and her mouth hanging open.

Hubbard was born poor in the hills of Kentucky in either 1901 or 1902 (his FBI file gives both dates); he liked to tell people he was twelve before he owned a pair of shoes. He never got past the third grade, but the boy evidently had a flair for electronics. As a teenager, he invented something called the Hubbard Energy Transformer, a new type of battery powered by radioactivity that “could not be explained by the technology of the day”—this according to the best account we have of his life, a well-researched 1991 High Times article by Todd Brendan Fahey. Hubbard sold a half interest in the patent for seventy-five thousand dollars, though nothing ever came of the invention and Popular Science magazine once included it in a survey of technological hoaxes.

WHO WOULD KNOW THE COST OF ADDICTION BUT THE SURVIVORS.

Get at the Root Causes While we’re working to break the cycle of addiction and adding healthy coping mechanisms, we must go deeper, to figure out what drove us outside ourselves in the first place. In other words, we need to intentionally deal with the root causes of our addiction. For me, the answer was never to just stop drinking, or to just stop sticking my finger down my throat, or to just stop weighing myself, or to just stop buying shoes in order to temporarily plug up some bottomless hole. The answer was to heal all those things that made it so desperately uncomfortable to be in my skin, so that I wouldn’t want to do those things to myself. The answer was to learn to love and respect myself so much, I didn’t want or need to do the harmful things anymore.

Today would have been my son’s fourteenth birthday, and for all these years, this is what I have put my friends through. I have condemned them to a crippling carefulness in order to spare my feelings, and it has taken Hugo’s big mouth to make me realise it. My grief has become an addiction; a bad habit like a tattered comfort blanket that I have hung on to for far too long. It has to stop. I look in the mirror again, and try to see my face as a stranger would see it. It has all the requisite physical components to make it reasonably attractive; green eyes, full but well-shaped lips and a strong, straight nose. But there is no spark or spirit behind those eyes, and there is an expression of ingrained defeat haunting every gaunt contour of that woman’s face. That woman in the mirror is not me. She is the spectre that I have allowed myself to become and I don’t want to be her any more. I want to be the old Masha; the one I pray to God is still hiding inside me somewhere, hanging on by the tips of her fingernails.

Again: real love—the kind described by the God who created and is love (1 John 4:8)—always includes truth. The two are inextricably intertwined, since true love celebrates truth (1 Cor. 13:6). Christians are called to this kind of love regardless of whether we feel empathy or not. Christians love because Christ first loved us, not because we feel a certain way or have had a particular experience (1 John 4:19). That’s why empathy is different from love and why it also must be submissive to love. Putting yourself in someone’s shoes may help you feel their pain, but their pain isn’t determinative of what’s true or false, right or wrong. A person for whom you feel empathy may, in their pain, believe or demand things that are untrue, unhelpful, and even harmful. We can empathize with the pain of withdrawal for a drug addict, for example, but it would be cruel to give them the heroin they crave.