I'm not sure what I should do, I had a dream and my therapist was in my dream, by the way the dream was NOT sexual. I am wondering if I should tell him about my dream or not????

Everyone has a dream no matter how simple it is or impossible to achieve we do the best we can to achieve it in a good way of course. As a young girl my dream was to get married in church, have children, have a house, a steady income and so on and so forth. You know what I'm saying. My first husband was very dedicated and ambitious. He was an excellent provider and I always knew I could count on him. The demise of my first marriage was lacking the skill of understanding of a wife and being supportive. Although, we were blessed with 2 great sons I didn't give it my all. I was so confident in fact overly confident that since we had everything that I became so comfortable. After 15 years of marriage it ended due to lack of things in my part like communication and just being a wife. It was a devastating experience but, only when I stepped back did realize he was always reaching out to me but I was not emotionally available. Although, there was a different type of love it was more of respect I had for him. While the divorce was in process I dipped my toes in the dating scene to realize that boy oh boy it was so different way back then when men will come over to your house, court you, bring you presents and ask your parents permission. Now it became more of a meat market. For a few years I enjoyed it. After 3 years my divorce was finalized. But, the dating scene made me feel more empty that finding a man is quite difficult a good one I should say. With so many options, technology and how society views a relationship which was a hush hush before was just normal. Of course due to my religious belief I never stopped praying and hoping that someday I will be blessed with the right man more so a man of God. As I continue my search I was asked to meet a man by my room mate’s best friend who happens to be her best friend’s room mate. I was hesitant for I already have set my standards of what I wanted and who I wanted to be man of God, ethnicity wise, height, education, looks, financial status, morals, loyalty, fidelity and values you name it I had it written down. When I met this man he was 40 and the first thing he said he just got home at 5am for he was in the club with friends in their 20's. That, not to sound judgmental should be the first big red flag. He was grilling some meat and as soon as it was cooked he was serving everyone and making sure all the ladies were taken care of red flag number 2. As the afternoon dies and getting closer to the evening he wanted to talk to me more. We sat down he told me he is separated although his family is in San Diego him and his wife still share one house but separate bedroom because they have 2 daughters. Then we started praying together now that one was a big plus for me since most of the man I dated either doesn't believe in God or doesn't practice their religion at all. I really liked him. He sent me roses at work and we would talk on the phone for hours. From that day we were inseparable. Everything happened so quick we moved in together and got a place. After 4 months I noticed he placed some ads and searching on craigslist for fun. That should be red flag number 3. I never did confronted him until I found out on his face book which he posted our pictures that he has strings of women again red flag number 4. That same year he filed for divorce and the ink wasn't dry on his divorce papers he wanted us to get married before 2010 ended. I was happy don't get me wrong but quite confused as to what the rush was since our sponsors will be in Bahamas and won't be back until first week of January 2011 found out due to taxes that may have been red flag number 5 but I was aware about it but I still filed Married filing separate. The course of our marriage was very chaotic since his daughter moved in with us she still couldn't grasp the divorce that happened to her parents even if both have their own partners. For months I subjected my self with verbal abuse and demeaning things both my second husband and...

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Ok, so I'm pretty sure there is something wrong with me. I have had this feeling toward my stepmother since I could remember. Like a desire. I know it's wrong, it's not right because she is married to my father and she is my stepmother. My father cheated on her and I just wanted to tell her so bad how I felt about her, and how much she deserved better but they got back together. My father married her without telling her he had a vasectomy. And all these years later she really wants a kid, I wish I could help her have a kid...
I am 21 years old, and I moved back into their house about a year ago because my roommate moved out of state and left the bills all on me. I go into their room sometimes when they go to work and I smell her freshly worn panties, and masturbate to them. I found a box of her toys(dildos) and I masturbated to them and licked them. I also found their sex tape and watched it so I could see what she looks like naked. Sometimes when my dad leaves to go to work, I hear her getting into the shower and I fantasize going in there and joining her, or going into the room and waiting on her to get out.
I have control enough to never do anything to crazy, but what should I do? Should I just get help, or tell her what I have done/ how I feel, or nothing? Please don't comment how sick I am, and how I need to find god.. I know I am sick, I just can't control myself sometimes.

At the age of eleven, five years ago, I recall calling a voice in my head the narrator, because he would refer to my life in third person, always negatively, constantly talking, and arguing with me, To this day. As far back as I can remember I have had a want to become female, purely for physical reasons, however, this need was intermittent, usually I had the standardly accepted gender identity, I even imagine being a father- not a parent or mother, a father- and now at sixteen my gender identity feels as if it has split into two, transgendered and 'normal,' while I am now 'turned on' by material of transgendered nature at times, but usually am not. The narrator has also evolved, triggering bouts of sudden uncharacteristic anger, while I am usually calm and cheerful. I sometimes find that my face is curling into a look of anger or contempt, or that I have sudden images of badly hurting people who do something I dislike, that may have been an acceptable thing to do, but for whatever reason I just feel foreign satisfaction in imagining pain.

I began looking through myself, basically just trying to figure out what the hell is wrong, and the following are the results:

At the age of six I had a crush on a girl in my primary school class, she left that year, for other reasons. This is the most definite starting point I can place for my tgism. then, at eleven, I had my second crush, on another classmate, and she walked up to me and told me to stay away from her shortly after the two friends I told this secret to went and told everyone. My theory is that my subconscious took these rejections, and the stereotypical views on geeks and indians, and sculpted from them the idea that I was so repulsive that the only way I could ever have a girl in my life was to be a girl, and so that shard of my gender identity broke away, and from this information I called that shard Lust. Lust doesn't seem to be as conscious as the narrator (who is now named Anger), though she has on two occasions exclaimed on how 'hot' a guy was, though this may be because of nightly masturbation to the idea of being a girl, leading to lust already being expressed. Anger, however, is kept under lock and key, and so usually has a voice. There are other signs as well. I used to use electronic devices excessively, even when supposed to be sleeping, but I voluntarily stopped, and recently I've started feeling tired after 11am, as if I hadn't gotten the sleep that I obviously did. Occasionally, when writing, my hand forms a squiggle instead of a letter, and my handwriting has deteriorated, and today when trying to write while holding the pen loosely, I could only make squiggles.

There may be other voices, occasionally when playing a sport I become giddy, speaking without thinking, and really jumpy, and sometimes I hear a crowd, but that may be Anger messing with me.
There's a chance I am only imagining all of this, but I don't want to take that risk.
Help me please.

Rightio, guys! Welcome to my world! It's great in here, albeit the landscapes may appear a little cerebral and neurotic sometimes. I lead the fine young life of an Irish student. Yes, student life is... well, chaotic. Effective organisation is always precluded by the necessities of student life (i.e. sleeping erratic hours, inconsistently meeting inconsistent deadlines, and an all-round simultaneous lack of planning and spontaneity). I am doing what I love (that's binge-reading on metaphysics and critical theory and writing highfalutin essays on it all), and even if it doesn't make me happy, that's okay, because I'm doing the right thing with my life right now. Clarity helps.

Happiness (whatever it is) is a thoroughly overused term these days. Why on earth should I be happy just because I have everything and my life is pretty darn good?! 'Erm... perhaps because you have everything and your life is pretty darn good...?' This is called circular reasoning, a logical fallacy. In fact, the entire pursuit of happiness in itself is both illogical and pointless. For a fact, nothing makes me happy. Ought I be stricken now by an avalanche of guilt? Not really. It's okay to feel whatever you feel and it is absolutely ridiculous to feel what someone else (or society, in fact) tells you to feel, because that's even more absurd that not feeling good, when life's good. In fact, the pursuit of happiness makes people depressed, because it's cheating logic and breaking down the faculties we rely on to make clear distinctions between things!

I like my life. I don't like my depression. I live life with depression. I do not live a depressed life. When I am really depressed I am not living my life, but this has nothing to do with my life and everything to do with my depression. It is important when I am very depressed to never wish my depression to end, because this would mean ending my life. And I like my life. It is much more likable than my depression. It only makes sense to say, then, that I like my life more than I can ever dislike my depression, because depression requires life in order to exist and wishing my life to end because it will end my depression is completely absurd, because it denies the origin of depression, which is not life, but absurdity. Yes, depression is absurd, but life is not and in order to affirm what is true and meaningful (i.e. the fact that depression is absurd) we must affirm life.

Of course, it may appear to be problematic when philosophers say that life is absurd and melancholia is a natural reaction to the absurdity of life. This may be true (and if it is it becomes difficult to distinguish depression from life), but even these philosophers find a way of affirming life, even if only in spite. For Camus, absurdity must be affirmed because our lucidity is the basis of all that we have. According to him, we must continue to push the boulder up the hill knowing it will fall back down, because acknowledging the pointlessness of this task liberates us to accept it. For Kierkegaard, it is defiance: rejection of help or escape which gives us strength to be our own and endure. For Nietzsche, life, suffering and all the tragedy in the world must be relished in order to rise above the adversity of slavery and become masters of ourselves through strength and creativity.