Romans & histoires Quotes About Tired Of Being Hurt

I smiled bitterly and looked at them. "I just got really tired of everything today. I lost the strength to act, think, and so on," I finished hoarsely. Sophia came over to give me a shoulder pat and said, "I know what you are going through right now is really heavy, but I hope you don't forget that there are still people for you. They, us, and your work are the encouragement to rise up and act again." "It hurts to lose. We all know that, but no matter how bad the world is, I know there will come a time when we will be happy and at peace," Shiela followed.

My words dissolved into ugly sobs. Mariah leaned toward me, grabbing my hands. “Jessa, no. Hey, look at me. Breathe, okay? Slow breaths.” But I couldn’t. The pain clawed at me from the inside, too raw, too sharp. “I’m so tired of this,” I sobbed, words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m so tired of being the butt of the joke. Of always being the one people laugh at. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. I try so hard, Mariah. I try to be pretty, to fit in, to not take up so much space, but—” My voice cracked, breaking completely. “But I can’t. I’ll never be like them. I’ll never be good enough for anyone.”

"Maybe if you weren't so damn fat and lazy." I kept cleaning. "Maybe if you spent less time stuffing your face with stupid books, then you might look prettier and find a man who finds you attractive." There it was. The familiar jab. The one he'd been making for years. I felt it. Of course I did. But pain loses its sharpness after enough repetitions. Eventually, it becomes background noise, like traffic, rain, or heartbreak. I tossed the final paper towel into the trash. Richard laughed. The sound was ugly.

So is the teacher little, or you in pride have grown? I am hurt, wounded within. I couldn’t fulfill the cause for which I enrolled. Couldn’t gain confidence. I am torn apart, hurt by part as well as whole. I couldn’t save it. Today still, maybe. I still couldn't explain how much I mean to be fit. Tears don’t bother anymore. I feel pain without any water or substitute. Hurt, wounded deep, I do not weep. I can feel the pain for now even without a real weep.

He saw that I was crying and immediately looked saddened. "You know...I'm really tired." I started. He listened. "I'm just...tired, of being betrayed...of being lied to, of-of trusting people, of being used. It happens...every single time over...and over again...and I let it because I-I hope that it'll be different, you know? I try to give people more chances then they deserve and look what it does to me?" I gestured to the room, the papers scattered everywhere. I chuckled "I'm just so...damn...tired."

my bitter quote. It was as if I was taken aback by the last thing I said. I am so dead! It was only a week, but why does the pain seem so painful. Or I am just expecting more from him. I wiped away the tears, before taking a taxi. I didn't look at him, because until now I felt like I was getting burned. I went home in tears, my night was very secluded. It used to be like that but from what I witnessed before, I lost even more strength to associate with others. Love wasn't this sharp you can't say it's just a touch and it's deep.

I laughed when the heavy rain suddenly fell. I looked up as my tears continued to flow. I remember what happened earlier. Everyone hates me, and it's fucking hurt. damn! “I don't love you Charmaine, and you know that and I will never love you.” “You're not my daughter and you will never be my daughter, you're useless.” Words from the two people who matter most to me. I lay down on the road and cried. Yes, I'm bad but why do I have to experience all this? “I'm tired ..... I'm tired of enduring all the pain.”

Then again. Pulled the duvet up. Threw it off. Pulled it back again. I sat up with a gasp, nearly crying from the frustration alone. "Ugh!!!" I groaned. "I hate this… I hate all of this. Why can't I just sleep?!" I slammed my hand into the pillow. "God, not tonight. Please... not tonight." My voice shook, even though I tried to stay strong. "I’m so tired." I whispered. "I’m so damn tired of hurting."

He looked hurt, but he didn’t leave. “I care,” he said simply. “No one asked me to come talk to you. I was just walking home and saw your face. That’s all it took.” I felt my throat tighten. “You think saying nice things fixes anything?” I asked, my voice shaking. “You think being calm and sweet means I’ll just magically feel better? You don’t know what I’ve been through.” “I know I don’t,” he said. “But I can tell when someone is tired of being hurt.”

"Why aren't you answering your phone? "Did you really hurt yourself just because I didn't answer your call yesterday? I told you, I was busy. Why can't you be more sensible?" My wounds, still bleeding, seemed to suffer another blow, thanks to his words. My cold, numb heart seemed to cry out again at that moment. He never even asked me what happened before doling out judgment. Not even the sight of me lying here, injured, could affect him in any way. On the other hand, it wasn't surprising that he could affect me with just a few words. I'd loved him for five years, after all.