Paragraph of the Day

Posted on January 20, 2012 by maki9564

I have a friend who is doing a projected called Photograph of the day and I thought I should do that with writing! What a novel idea! This may or may not help me with my focusing issues.

Day one:

Last night while laying in bed talking about how amazing our room looks (we just finished remodeling it by ourselves!!) we got on the subject how to figure out how I could stay home. Then Jeff said he would like to quit his job too?!?!? I must admit I was scared he had these thoughts. What was he thinking?? He has to work so I can la-de-da through my life! He has to be the stable one! who’s going to pay for insurance?!?!

But then I started to realize that he deserves happiness too and he is unhappy at his corporate job. He has stuck with the same mind-numbing job for 14 plus years (I think) so we could have a roof over our heads, food on the table, and enjoy nice things in life.

There must be a way to do this!

Maybe it is my turn to take the reins and let him discover who he is and what he wants to be when he grows up.  But what can I do? Let’s make a list!

I can:

obsess ( this is a handy skill when wanting something)

write ( maybe write another blog about figuring out how to quit our jobs and support a family of 5??)

grow veggies/fruits (ok, the first time didn’t work out but I think I could if I just try harder)

Shop smarter (help be out crazy coupon ladies)

Waxing ( where do the hairy people live?)

Bake (and if I can get it out of the house uneaten, I can sell it!)

Build furniture (again, I haven’t actually completed anything but sure I can do it if I tried hard enough)

This looks like a good start with lots to think about.

Have you ever thought of stepping of the grid? What are your gifts that you could get paid for (legally)?

 

Posted in My Writing | 1 Comment

Oh Sh!t moment

Posted on January 17, 2012 by maki9564

So a couple days ago I shared a very big “oh sh!t” moment (oprah trademarker “AHA”) and for the first couple days I was enjoying my laid back cookies on the couch routine till last night. I was blow drying my hair upside down and it just wasn’t pretty. I always thought that hanging upside down would put everything back in its place that my kids and age had push out of place…but it doesn’t. :(

Speaking of kids, when I was pregnant with my first, my nurse midwife suggested I speak to a therapist about my past and developing my parenting style. After my first visit, my therapist said that she thought that I was trying to be so much the total opposite of my mom that I was going to be just as bad as my mom.

Seems like a pattern…I take it to the extreme.

I don’t take baby steps. Mainly because I think that I just want an answer, I just want it over with, and I just want to move on. But is that how I want to live my life?

Although I have forced many habits on myself lately, I don’t think it was the habits but the level I took the habits to. So I am going to bring back some of my habits because honestly, I like the green juice and I like twisting and bending, but I am not going to hold myself to a level that I cannot maintain. I am going to enjoy my habits.  If one day I have juice, great, if I don’t, great!

This will be my practice of self-love…

 

 

 

Posted in My Therapy | 2 Comments

I Loathe Mirrors!

Posted on January 13, 2012 by maki9564

In the bathroom mirror I’m thinking “I look pretty hot” but somehow by the time  get in the car, I have grown chin hairs and there is now a zit on the side of my nose and that amazing make-up…now looks like a little blush and eyeliner. Don’t even get me started on when I make it to the mirror at Target…when did that get that big?!?!?

But seriously, today I am talking about another kind of mirror,the one I usually hate the most-the one someone shows you with their words when they tell you what you are showing them.

This morning I realized I have not been seeing myself in the mirror and I am so busy trying to be this person I see in my mind that I believe if I could just be like that I will be ok…I will be beautiful. The truth is, in Jeff’s word, “I like to lay on the couch and eat Oreos.” I don’t actually like Oreos, not my cookie of choice, not that I wouldn’t eat them if they were in front of me but let’s stick to the truth. I do like to lay on the couch…but were getting off the point.

The point is I’m trailer. I like flea markets, tatter-tot casserole, hostess cupcakes, cheap wine, not showering first thing in the morning, and 9 times out of 10…ok, ok 9.9 times out of 10, if you say something that can have any kind of sexual connotation to it…my mind goes there and I giggle inside.

So the point to all this confessing…

How much can you change who you are? And when I say “who you are” I mean the person that all the people around you as a child shaped you into being.

See I have an issue..ok..issues but let’s focus on just one for this paragraph at least. I have this need to be superior, not to someone but to myself. I think this stems from wanting to show my abusers, both physical and emotional, that I am worthy, that they did not break me, and to say see how far I have come. So I look at people that I think are strong, worthy, admired by many, and that I am in awe of and I go off the deep end trying to be them. I drink juiced veggies that taste like grass, I get up super early and twist and bend my body in to positions that I haven’t even tried in bed, I wear all-natural deodorant that I’m pretty sure does nothing, I  stick my nose up at anything not holistic, and I watch Oprah’s life class!

Now I know that working on yourself or investing in yourself is not a bad thing. I think my problem is I have thrown myself outside and locked the door while inside I put all my effort into building the person I think I could love…

Ouch! The truth hurts. It sucks to think you have come so far in self-development after abuse and realize you have missed the first step–self-love. By the way, I hate steps, would rather take a slide but slides only go down.

How did this revelation come about, you make ask?

Well I am trying to grow-up; I am trying to figure out what career path I want to follow and if you know me, you know there are many, many paths I have talked about with great passion and maybe even walked down a little but none have stuck. Why?

Because I am trying to survive. One of the first books I read about abuse said that victims don’t dream that they focus on the next attack and what to do to not let it happen again.

So here I am trying to figure what I want to be when I don’t even know who I am. I don’t know what I like to do, I know what you like me to do to make you happy.  I asked myself today, “if you were alone, no one was watching or would ever know what you did, and it would provide for you, what would you do?” silence….I got nothing. Does this go back to loving myself? I think so.

So I am going to go put on regular deodorant, eat the Nutella banana bread I just baked while laying on the couch, and thinking about falling in love with myself.

Posted in My Therapy, My Writing | 9 Comments

“Do You Want to be Happy, or Do You Want to be Right?”

Posted on January 12, 2012 by maki9564

I don’t enjoy watching Dr. Phil, a little to showman for me, but I have heard him say this over and over and it is so true…”do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?”

What are your intentions…

The other night after a long day at work, I was making dinner while the kids sat at the table doing their homework. Ryan and Lindsey work diligently with their nose to their paper while Owen tipped his chair up on one leg, made wads of paper balls the through at his brother and sister, and made extremely loud dying animal noises. I yelled at him to knock it off, to sit his chair down, and focus. That didn’t work; he just got louder and crazier so I did too.

Then it hit me…what was my intention…what energy was I sending him…a calm energy that would direct him to be calm or a crazy lady energy that would encourage his crazy energy. I took a deep breath, walked across the room to him, put my hand gently on his shoulder, and said “hey buddy, let’s calm down and focus. Do you need help with your homework?” I think it scared the crap out of him. He sat his chair down and said “nope” and started his homework.

Intention is in every part of my life. With my weight–is my intention to be unhealthy? because the action of me eating the donut says it is. With my career–is my intention to watch other live their dreams and not write a  novel that Hollywood turns into a blockbuster movie?????? Because the action of reading about others making it, trolling pinterest.com, and not writing says it is!!! With my relationships–is it my intention to have no friends? Because the action of not calling, visiting, e-mailing, skypeing, or posting on anyones Fb wall says it is.

Now when my kids are misbehaving I ask them what their intentions are and if they will see the results they want with the actions they are taking…it drives them crazy, I am sure, but it works. They stop and think about what they are doing and sometimes change their actions. Its not perfec

 

What are your intentions….

Posted in Motherhood, My Therapy, My Writing | 4 Comments

Just a Paragraph

Posted on January 11, 2012 by maki9564

The wise word spoke to me by a fellow blogger, “just give me a paragraph.” Easy, right?

I think my next blog website should be “needsomeonetomakemewrite.com”

Believe me, I think about writing all the time. Everytime I walk through a book store or book section of a store I hear the books telling me I belong here. And everytime I see a book written by Snooki or LC, I think seriously, Casey! If they can do it, you can do it.

But the truth is that they have people around them saying you should do this, you can do this, this is due by Friday!

Now I have the first two items they have but I lack the last. Under presure, I am a manic writer able to spew words of wisdom and wonderful stories but I don’t feel the presure of anyone waiting for me to write (not asking for you to beg me to write).

Last night I laid in bed and thought of all the opportunities I had to write and instead did something else–it kills me. I realize that time is a gift and no time is promised so I need to use what I get. Why can I easily dole out my time for things that will mean nothing in the end. Why can’t I spend time on myself…on my dream. Do I think it is a waste? Do I think that the fruits of labor are for only certain people? What keeps me from my dream…what keeps you from yours? Or have you reached it or one of them?

I wear a vile around my neck filled with Florida sand and a piece of paper that I wrote the name of my main character of my novel on. I made this when I lived in Iowa because one, I desprately wanted to move back home and two because I felt a strong urge to write. After I made the necklace I started planning our move back home. I promised Lindsey we would celebrate her next birthday at Disney. Jeff thought this was a bad idea since it seemed impossible to move back home. When it came time to register the kids for school ( 7 months before school started) I registered them in Florida and paid the fees for Lindsey’s preschool. We also started the process of buying a house in Florida. Needless to say we made it happen. I would not allow myself to believe anything else. When we got here and we were waiting to close on our home, it seemed everything that could go wrong, went wrong. The realtor said she had never seen so many contingencis on a closing…37! Everyday there was another reason it was not going to work. Our closing date came and went but I would not believe this was not meant to be our home. I laid in bed at night and told myself that I lived at 1950 63rd Ave. I imagined writing my address on envelopes. I would not allow myself to look at rentals even though we were living on borrowed time at our friends house and needed to get settled soon. Then the  realtor called, we had a closing time…around 2:30 depending on the bank sending funding. That was the longest day; I waited for the call to tell me when to go sign but no call came so I started calling people and driving to the title company. Halfway there the title company told me to come in to sign. Yea, right? I went and signed the paper, done, right? The house was ours, right? That night I got a call from our mortagage broker, funding had not been recieved. It was a Friday and we would not know until Monday if we could still buy the house…OMG!! But I did not allow myself to believe this was not meant to be my home and come Monday it all worked out and we have lived here for almost a year and a half.

Jeff thinks I should take the necklace off since half of my dream came true and I haven’t worked on my novel in quite awhile. But I’m not going to allow myself to believe my dream is over…

 

Posted in My Therapy, My Writing | 3 Comments

It’s Not Personal

Posted on December 31, 2011 by maki9564

So the point of this blog is to get me to write and to work on my “issues,” both of which I have done little of lately. Blame it on the holidays, end of semester with a very hard final, sick kids…is that enough excuses? So in this post I will do both, first with a story I wrote about an experience I had as a young girl and second sharing what and how I am working on getting past it and let it be what it was—an experience.

The First Bite

The first bite pierced my heart when I was very young—about six or seven. I felt the venom enter my body; I felt my heart beat slowed down. I pushed my little arms against my hunter’s stone chest, trying to free myself from his grip. His arms were strong, they held me still. I felt the watch on his wrist pinched my arm as I struggled to get off his lap. I ran to my room, straight under the covers. I felt confused, not understanding what had just happened, what I had done to deserve this. I played the scene over and over in my mind, trying to grasp when I had become prey, instead of his daughter. I felt a rock in my stomach and my skin burned. I felt the venom taking over my warm blood—my heart. Slowly the change was taking place—a little girl—I no longer was. The easy joy, the laughter, the carefree spirit—gone, I was now prey. I put my guard up; my heart turned to stone, pushing the last bit of life out of me. I would never let my heart beat again, afraid the hunter would find me.

A beating heart spreads the blood, which then spreads sensation—I could not—I cannot handle feeling any sensation. It is too scary.

I gained strength in my transformation—in my death, nothing could hurt me ever again. I would also never feel happy either, but that was a small price to pay to stay alive.

Therapy

I don’t know what it is but I have always been able to be open to different points of view of an experiences or situations-must be the Libra in me. In my quest to find myself and get my heart beating again, I have begun reading lots of books on abuse, on spirituality, on life. Recently, I started reading “Light on Life” by B.K.S. Iyengar, who is a yogi. Everything I have read has been interesting but this passage opened my eyes and changed my life.

To feel is a verb; it is something that happens…Emotion is a noun, a thing…when we allow feelings to harden and coalesce into emotions, which we transport like overburdened slaves, we deny ourselves life’s freshness, its ever present potential for renewal and transformation

Wow! That is what I do! Instead of having the experience for what it is, I label it and find storage in my body to carry it around for the rest of my life—why??? I need to work on that.

Another thing he talks about that I feel goes along with this story and lesson and it a big part of moving on, is “it’s not personal!” The example he gives is when someone cuts you off in traffic our instead reaction is to be offended and mad. The fact is that person most likely doesn’t know us and has their reason for cutting us off. Maybe they need to get to the hospital or they’re running late for work, either way it has nothing to do with us.

So how do I apply these two lessons to my experience I shared in the story above? First off, I need to realize that is happened, I felt dirty and ashamed but I also need to realize that I am neither dirty or have a reason to feel ashamed. The second lesson, teaches me that it’s not personal, he didn’t do it because I am not worthy or I deserved it, he did it because he didn’t love himself and he is/was sick. That is not my problem to own and carry.  Easy, right!? It’s a daily practice just like dieting.

Posted in Growing-up, My Therapy, My Writing | 2 Comments

Lost

Posted on December 20, 2011 by maki9564

“You can lie in here.” my semi-sober sister leads me into the spare room and then quickly leaves to rejoin the Burger King after work party. I look around the room surveying what I had to work with; there is a small window on the far wall casting soft grey light on the floor illuminating a crocket blanket my sister threw out for me. No furniture lines the dark brown panel walls of the trailer, just boxes with black marker scribbles identifying what is inside. Not my first choice for lying down but at this point I could care less where I stop my head from spinning. Even with the blanket, the orange shag carpet offers little cushion and the musky mix of cat pee and carpet freshening powder burns my nose; the music vibrates from the next room adding to the pounding in my head. I close my eyes diving into the comfortable darkness of escape.

For a quick moment the room fills with light and music and then is dark again; I am no longer alone. His voice is familiar; he is a short Hispanic boy of medium build, with long black hair, and smells of tequila. He lays his body the length of mine reaching his rough, calloused hand out to touch my face pushing a stray piece of hair away from my eyes. Leaning in, he kisses me gently to gauge my level of acceptance. Being three-sheets-to-the-wind, I reply with a more forceful kiss, sliding my tongue in his soft warm mouth; the strong taste of tequila makes me want to gag but I maintain composure. He pushes my hips flat to the floor with the weight of his legs as he straddles me, breaking the kiss to whisper in my ear.

“Hey you want to pst?”  He breathes in my ear sending a chill down my back making the hair stand-up on my neck.

“What?” My body stiffens. “No!” I assume that pst meant sex. I am not pure but still a virgin and am planning on keeping it that way. It is my one hope to live for, the only gift I feel I have left.

Suddenly my body reacts; I shove him off and run to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. Most of what I drank and ate in the last couple hours evacuates my body with mega force. Stomach acid burns my throat leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Oh…I should have stopped after the first drink. The coolness of the toilet seat is a welcoming plastic pillow to my hot face but I do not have the strength to hold myself up. I slide to the floor, my eyes grow heavy and I pass out.

Waking-up to a firm callused hand on my bare breast I feel my body is rocking back and forth complying without my consent. Internally searching my body to grasp what is happening, I realize my shorts are pulled down and I no longer have underwear on. Instantly I feel a burning sensation between my legs. My search explodes out my eyes with realization, HE IS RAPING ME!

“No! No! Stop!” I yell with both voice and flying clutched fist. Kicking at him while shriveling away, he gets up and pulls his pants up with a look of fulfillment before slithering out the brown faux wood door.

My melt into the cracked, peeling linoleum covered in pubic hair glued to the floor with dried urine, feeling my world crashing around me, hot tears run down my cheeks collecting in puddles in my ears. The questions begin to swirl in my swollen mind. Did he use protection? What if I get pregnant? Why me? What is the point of living now?

And then the voices join in; the loudest is my mother’s. I told you this would happen… at least you’re not dead in the ally. What a disappointment. Did you really think you deserve better.

My sister opens the door interrupting my mental conversation. She looks at me curled up in the fetal position holding on to the dirty orange crocket blanket.

In a scared whisper she asks, “Are you okay?” as her face says shealready knows the answer.

“No,” I wrap the strings at the end blanket around my pointer finger debating what to say. “He raped me.” Tumbles out of my mouth, bring on another round of tears from my soul.

She was lost, not knowing what to say or do. I was her little sister, her responsibility, and I was just raped in her bathroom while she was getting drunk in the front room. She covers my naked body with the blanket I am clinging to and then leaves without a word to find her husband.

After moments that seem like hours drag by, I slowly pull myself up with the toilet seat feeling the weight of my dead soul. Looking down I see blood between my legs and rage grows inside me; I want to kill him but I barely knew who he was and the voice in my head tells me that this is what “girls like me” deserve. Helplessness floods over me and I resign to my place as prey—a place I have been before. I thought I had figured the game out; I thought I knew how to win; I thought that if I was faster, harder that they could not hurt me and I would receive the love I deserve—but I am slapped back into my place.

And now I have lost my gift, the one thing that was to save me—my virginity. With that I still had some worth, I was not damaged goods, and someone would want me. Now I was used—a dirty piece of toilet paper lying on the bathroom floor to be thrown away.

Posted in Growing-up | 2 Comments

Author’s Introduction

Posted on December 20, 2011 by maki9564

My name is Casey Dillahay and I’m a writer. I am a WRITER. A W-R-I-T-E-R—a writer. No I have not gotten paid for anything I have written (yet) and no you have not read anything I have created (yet) but I still know that I am a writer. I feel it in my joints; I feel it when my fingers tap dance across the keyboard moving faster than I could possible say the words, pouring my soul onto the blank white screen. There is a release when I finish and a skip of a heart beat when I read it back to myself. SO yeah, just like I am a mother who has sacrificed her body, her sleep, her sanity, her life for her children who no one may ever know—I am a writer that is doing the same for the stories in my soul.

I have always hated my hand writing. As long as I can remember I have received criticism on my “chicken scratch.” I would brush it off with come backs like “genius have bad handwriting,” playing like I did not care but I did so I did not write. I stored my thoughts, joys, pains, and fears inside till now. Now I don’t care what you think of my handwriting and honestly, I don’t care what others think of my writing because I wrote it for me. For the one who deserves to be heard—for the one who has kept quiet for too long afraid of what others would think.

I have nothing to hide because I was never meant to hide. There is a reason they put a handle on a door—it is to be used to open the inside to the outside. And there is a reason I have lived the life I have lived—it is to help others find the outside when they are lost inside themselves.

Posted in Growing-up, My Writing | Leave a comment

I want my mommy…

Posted on December 5, 2011 by maki9564

Its 9:38 Sunday night, I’m lying in bed trying to go back to sleep since I have to get up at 3:30 for work the next morning. I am not aware of what woke me up but I am now wide awake thinking about the minutes of precious sleep evaporating and my frustration is growing. Then I hear crying, soft at first and then whaling. It’s Lindsey. She had fallen asleep on the couch earlier that evening and I carried her to her bed to only have her wake
right up and follow me back out of the room. I didn’t care at that point since I usually leave the bedtime duties to Jeff on Sunday nights so it wasn’t my problem to worry about. But now she was interrupting my sleep. She crying “I want my mommy” over and over, getting louder with each cry. I lay in my bed across the house yelling at her in my head

…go to sleep…just come here…why are you crying…you’re fine…what do you want??? no
one is going to answer you!!!

I grew more and more frustrated and annoyed with her, completely confused by her lack of understanding of how to solve her problem. The voices in my head were going crazy with anger and then they stopped…her crying had stopped. I was relieved that I could now get back to my sleep… but I couldn’t. I felt bad as a mother. I started to think about the
things I said in my head and where those thoughts came from. I realized she
just wanted her mommy; I realized there was a time that I just wanted my mommy;
and I realized that she never came for me and I was mad at Lindsey for asking
for something that I never had and would never have…

Lindsey and I have a different relationship then the boys and I do. I see the relationship she has with her father; I see her dancing through life in her sweet, carefree way; I see her beauty both inside and out—and I am jealous. Sometimes I can’t stand her touch—her hugs or kisses. She tells me twenty times a day “I love you, mommy” but I struggle to believe her. If the people who gave me life couldn’t love me, how could she?

Of course I want my daughter to have a better childhood than I did but it makes me constantly question why I wasn’t good enough for that kind of childhood.

Now I am lying in bed feeling horrible that I have done the same to my daughter. I think of how she must feel and how the damage is done—this isn’t the first time I haven’t answered. All she wanted was her mommy… I finally stop beating myself up, make a plan to be better, and fall asleep. The next morning my heart is heavy but excited about the moment I have had. I think about her and what I want for her. I want to fill her with love, hope, and dreams so she well have some to give to her kids so I write her a letter…

Dear Lindsey,

This letter is going to fail to express the amount of love I have for you, what I hope for you, and dream for you but I will try…

You are my breath in the morning, my peace in evening, and my faith in the future. When I think about how you have changed my life and all the love you have brought me, I am in pain because it is so much more than I have ever felt. I don’t feel like I deserve
it. When you are around everything is better. You are sweet and kind-hearted,
always putting others before yourself. You have a twinkle in your eye that says
you’re a bit of magic. I am scared of you. I am scared of letting you down. I
am scared of failing. I am scared you will see I am not worthy. Yet you
constantly tell me you love me, thank you. You are very smart and feisty and I
hope you never lose that fire. You can do anything you want and should. Listen
to Disney…dreams really do come true!

Lastly, I want to say I am sorry. I am not whole and I am trying to find my missing pieces and fill in the holes. There will be times that I can’t be your mommy because I am being my own mommy. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your mommy just that I don’t know how to. Please be patient and we will make it through this together…

Love ya,

Mommy

I didn’t give Lindsey the letter but I did give it to myself. I realize that my mom felt the same things for me but didn’t know how to express them because she was missing pieces too.

 

Posted in Growing-up, Motherhood | 1 Comment