I've been going to therapy for about a year and a half, but I don't believe it's helping. The last therapist I had quit his job because of me, because I told him about my most recent dream, about how my father was a drunk, how he would abuse me, my mother, and my little brother. He couldn't even tell me he loved me before I went to sleep, never told us good job, or that he cared, my older brother saw the chance to leave and took it, knowing he would get caught up in drugs, he cane home to live with us when he was fifteen, he shot me up with meth after thirty minutes of being there, I was eight. I started smoking cigarettes around that time. Still haven't quit. My worst nightmare is that I end up like my father when I grow up, it's hard to get past these past sixteen years of pain and hurt he has caused, but I guess since mom told me about keeping a journal will help, I'll give it a shot. I'll write more later, time for therapy.
