Quotes About Tired Of Being Hurt の小説・ストーリー

"She said I am sick and tired of being sick and tired." She looked around the room. Her eyes landed on me for a second then moved on. "How many of you feel that way? Sick and tired of being sick and tired? Of things not changing? Of feeling stuck?" A few hands went up but I did not raise mine. But I felt it...felt the words echo in my chest. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. Sick of lying. Sick of hiding. Sick of wanting someone I should not want. Sick of myself.

"Tell me why, Vivian. Help me understand, because right now I genuinely cannot make sense of it." She leaned back against the booth, her arms crossing over her chest. "Because I'm exhausted. I've spent my entire adult life being used by people with more power than me. Being overlooked. Being the person in the background who everyone calls when they need something but nobody thinks about when things are going well." Her voice was steady but tight underneath. "I am tired of watching everyone I love get hurt while I stand on the sidelines with nothing." "So you decided to become the person doing the hurting instead."

I don’t want such a pathetic coward for a mate. I don’t want to be cringing in a bramble yet again with no choice but to wait it out and feel lower than dirt afterward. I don’t want to have to scrub one more humiliation out of my brain. I am so tired of being sad and broken. I can’t take myself another second.

Just to say the things out loud. “James and I are not broken,” I say, almost to myself. “Just cracked a little.” “Cracks are how light gets in,” Marcy says, reaching for a dinner roll. I just love her attitude to life. Wes scoffs. “You two read too many P*******t quotes.” “They’re not wrong,” Dad murmurs. “But I still don’t like this. You being hurt. Him trying to figure it out too late.” “He’s not too late,” I say. “Not yet.”

“Do not be nonchalant about your feelings.” That hurt, that hurt so fucking much.

I'm staring at my laptop screen, rereading the last few paragraphs of the chapter that I've ever written. "It didn't really hurt that you chose her over me in the first place. I knew the moment I whispered the word "love" into your ear, you'd walk away from me, and it didn't bother me in the least. It didn't hurt at all — because the hurt is a word that can be said in a split second, and what I was feeling was nowhere near that level of pain. You didn't mean any harm to me at all. Inflicted more than wounds that I would be able to treat not in a heartbeat but over the course of several seasons if I had to. Despite the fact that you barely scratched my skin, you inadvertently scathed my unpro

That's the way it has always been, why would it change now? I'm so sick and tired of being lied to. I'm the one who has suffered, and I'm done with it, I can't do it anymore. I need to stop and fight regardless of what pain or consequences are inflicted. I'm done just taking everything from everybody, it ends now.

I’d ruin the fun. "I’m not telling her to die" I grumbled "just to get hurt or do something fun." It was unbelievable - he must have been thinking, but the truth was I needed something. I always needed something to get rid of boredom, so I used to joke, jump from plane to plane and throw myself into other people’s minds when I was too tired to exist. Fools who desire eternity - have no idea how tiring it can be. "It’s not my fault" I muttered "in the end it’s always the same and I’m tired of the same."

They were burdens forced upon me by fate, weights I would gladly shed. As I stood there, my mind flickered to the memories I couldn’t seem to erase. Every hurt, every lie, every broken promise—they haunted me, gnawed at my soul like shadows in the dark. But I wouldn’t let that show. I wouldn’t wear my heart on my sleeve. Not anymore. I’d been through enough. I’d been shattered, scarred, and remade by pain. No more. I was done with vulnerability, done letting others think they could break me.

I said. Silence again. Longer this time. “I am not a child,” he said. “And neither are you.” “No,” I replied. “But I am tired.” My chest ached. “Tired of being blamed. Tired of being dragged. Tired of being the price everyone pays for your family wars.” His breath hitched. “I never meant for you to be hurt.” “I know,” I said. “But I am hurt anyway.” I slid down until my back rested against the door.