Oh and I forgot to mention

 I also just remembered I had a dream about my grandpa last night. It was weird because there was a picture of my grandma and grandpa together and i edited it or something and it looked good but everyone else thought it looked scary then i stepped back and from back there it did look really scary like a negative or something. Then we were talking about my grandpa dying, my grandma me and uncle sam. My grandma showed me this cushion that he died on, it had pink stuff dripping and stained on it like blood. She didn’t know what it was but it looked like paint. It came about that we were talking about how he loved to paint, which is weird cause my grandpa never painted or was artistic that I know of. Anyways, We started thinking maybe he was shot and when he was shot it went through the color pink and the paint fell down and  thats why the stain was pink. I don’t know why. But then we thought when his lungs went out maybe he slipped over and he was working with the pink color and it dripped everywhere. Thats all I really remember.

Anyways I also forgot to say that now I’m really afraid of my mom drinking on or around her birthday because of what gale said in my dream that it was her birthday present. I told her not to and thats when she started talking to me about getting into DBT therapy which is stupid. 

Anyways here is a good poem that my therapist read to me that illustrates my co-dependancy on my mom and obsession with helping others instead of myself:

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver