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“Many people in recovery find that they feel spiritually grounded when in regular contact with the great outdoors. Others feel a deep serenity after lighting a candle in a church or temple or by chanting a sacred mantra. The point is that, unlike a typical religion that lays out a non-negotiable ideology, spirituality is expansive and deeply personal.”

Quote by Christopher Dines

Book:Drug Addiction Recovery: The Mindful Way
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Drug Addiction Recovery: The Mindful Way

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Christopher Dines

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“While excellence is a wonderful ideal, perfectionism is a dysfunctional belief system. Many people openly admit that they are perfectionists, which is really an unconscious cry for help. Being a perfectionist is really stating that whatever we attempt to do will never be good enough. This is due to a mistaken belief that we are flawed and unlovable.”

Self LoveMindfulnessSelf CarePerfectionismDrug AddictionSelf CompassionChristopher DinesDrug Addiction RecoverySelf Kindness
Book:Drug Addiction Recovery: The Mindful Way
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“Frozen grief occurs when we deliberately numb out and refuse to process our major losses. Frozen grief is essentially suppressed emotional pain (loss and abandonment) stored in the human body. Frozen grief torments drug addicts. Deep below the emotional surface of the drug addict who has yet to find recovery lies untold, suppressed pain and loss.”

PainLossRecoveryDrug AddictionChristopher DinesDrug Addiction RecoveryFrozen Grief
Book:Drug Addiction Recovery: The Mindful Way
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“On September 30, 1988, I got another summons to the dean’s office. This time, the president of the college, all of the deans, and two Resident Assistants were present, each holding a 3 x 5 card. I knew exactly what this was, an intervention. I didn’t give anyone a chance to read their cards; I simply started crying and asked them what I had to do. One of the deans said that they had made a reservation for me at a treatment facility in Atlanta and that I had until 8 PM to get there or be terminated. I went back to the dorm, packed a small suitcase, gathered up the liquor bottles and threw them in a trash bag. Before I left, I taped a purple sheet of construction paper to my door saying, “Ms. Davis will be away for the weekend.” Six weeks later, I returned from treatment.”

MemoirDrug AddictionDrug Addiction RecoverySubstance Abuse Treatment
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“The harder I fought against the law and its representatives, the more messed up my life became. At some point I had to ask myself, why did I keep choosing drugs and rebellion when they only ended in chaos and despair? Was it really worth the fleeting blip of euphoria when it cost so much?”

Drug AddictionDrugs And AlcoholDrug Addiction Recovery
Book:Pursued: God’s relentless pursuit and a drug addict’s journey to finding purpose
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“Your trousers!" she gasped when he followed some curiosity he found down the curve of her jaw. "They're wet." She could feel how drenched they'd become, absorbing the moisture of her desire, the friction creating a stronger, slicker surge followed by a shocking burst of pleasure as he ground them harder against her. "I don't care," he growled, passing his thumbs over her pebbled nipples in tandem, claiming her mouth and swallowing her startled cry as he rocked his hips against her again, and yet another time. Her thighs trembled, her stomach clenched, and a delight for which she had no name spread like a flood of fire through her limbs. "This pleases you?" He did it again, his own groan rumbling against her lips. Pleased her? More than strawberry tarts and decadent desserts. More than she'd pleased herself with him watching. More pleasure than she'd ever imagined her body capable of producing. But she could say none of those things, so she just hissed a "Yes!" as her muscles began some sort of ascension she didn't yet understand. With each of his movements, and every one of his kisses, the glorious sensation intensified, electrified, until, unable to help herself, her head dug into the bed and her hips peeled off it. Her body bowed with a jerking, pulsing ecstasy so acute, she felt as though she was lost in an apoplexy. Her heart raced, forcing her blood into each extremity, and then stalled, only to charge again. She thought she heard her name. She knew she gasped illogical things. Maybe screamed words, but couldn't hear them, or for the life of her, remember what they were. Perhaps the same incoherent tongues spoken by the evangelicals whilst taken in rapture, for surely that's what this was.”

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Book:The Highwayman
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