Here I am.

I have hit a wall, I suppose. My inner growth has stopped and I am now trying to figure out where to go from here.

My life has been a whirlwind of madness the past year and I need something.


I need peace.

I refuse to go back to where I was.

I need to move forward.

I need to read new books and see new places.

Maybe that’s what this crazy life is all about, really.

Losing yourself.

Finding yourself.

Just to lose yourself again.

I’m never the same person I once was.

I want to evolve.

I want to like more things about myself because right now, I just don’t like who I have become.

Lucky for me, I don’t have to stay who I am.

I can change.

I can be better.

I can be different.

I can grow.

I can love myself and love others.

It’s all choice.

MY choice.

How amazing is that?

We all can do this.





—–> Home is where your crap is stored.

I marked the next check box off my list of things to do…

I told my Landlord I will be moving out in August. It was a sad day for me.

I have worked my bum off making sure to keep a place for me and my daughter.

I have budgeted and scrounged to stay where I’m at. That’s life. I know this.

I am content where I am. I love my house and it’s the perfect house for both of us.

Moving in with my mother will be quite a transition. I’m worried about a lot of things.

How will kiddo act living with her? She loves my mom so much and always wants to be with her. Will she even want to spend time with me if our “home” is there?

Will I go crazy? I haven’t lived with mother in years!

My mother and I get along for the most part. I just really have no problem telling her exactly what I think. Which, in turn, hurts her feelings, sometimes. I have promised myself to try to work on that.

This is Granny’s house. Everything in there just screams “Hey, here’s my things, but I’m dead”

Literally. It screams that, making my ears bleed.

I am being punched in the stomach.

I feel my heart shattering.

Then, I find the nearest exit and go back to my house. MY safe place. MY home.

However, I think about in the future, when I will be back on my own, and feel like I will appreciate this time I get to spend with her in Granny’s house.

This is, financially, my smartest move to make.

I want to be able to provide more to my child.

I would like to be able to save some money in case something happens.

This move will allow me to do that.

So, for the moment, it’s a financial decision. A smart one.

A good move.

I’m scared.

Sleeping in that house, with the walls whispering memories of everything Granny, scares me.

Taking a shower in the bathroom that Granny hung her robes and night gowns on the back door, makes me cry.

As if I am not already reminded of her in my every day life, on my drive home, at my work place, I now will be living in her house.

Maybe it won’t be as bad as I think it will.

My home is wherever my child is. She is my home.

Maybe I should choose to believe this is a positive change for me and my family.

It’s all choice, anyhow.


I’m a mess, I confess…..but well worth it.

In previous relationships, even before my marriage, I always tried to be what that person wanted, needed.

I let them be who they were, tried to fit into their life, and in the process, lost myself.

I will take a lot of blame for my failed marriage (Don’t tell my ex husband that). It took me quite some time to realize how dishonest I was with him, and especially myself. He knew exactly what he wanted. I, on the other hand, did not. I just tried to be the person he wanted, then ended up resenting him for wanting me to change. When, in reality, he didn’t want me to completely change. He wanted me to be the person I was when we first started dating. I refer to her all the time as, “The Cool Girl”. It’s a Gone Girl reference. I remember reading that book and it made so much sense.

In all of my relationships, I started out liking EVERYTHING they liked.

I changed the kind of cigarettes I smoked.

I ordered my steak cooked the same way they did.

I listened to the same music they liked.

Remember the part on Runaway Bride where she always ordered the same eggs as her boyfriend? I was that girlfriend. Eventually, she cooks every egg and finally realizes which one she likes the best.

I needed to get my eggs picked out.

Egg in a hole…wins every time. (Bottom right corner)


With my current relationship, it’s a struggle. I find myself going back to that “Cool Girl” charade.

We all want this magical, fairy tale love.

Sometimes, it’s not so magical.

Sometimes, it’s down right disastrous.


Sometimes, it’s so raw that you don’t know if you can handle it.

I think THAT is what makes it.

In the past year, I have learned to set my ego to the side, and just show how much love I can give.

And even through my pettiness.

Even through my indecisiveness.

Through my crazy blabbering of nonsense.

..He still loves me. He still sticks around. He still thinks it’s worth it. That I’M worth it.


It’s still a process for me. I’m learning how to therapeutically get my point across.

Sometimes, it’s an epic fail and I fall back into my same habits of holding back all of my words until I explode, making no sense to the person I’m exploding on.

Or I just expect them to read my mind, ya know?

I am who I am.

I’m just a crazy human trying to figure out the best way to love you without giving up my own individuality at the same time.

I’ll get it.

Just bare with me.



..::Who are We?::..

I am so utterly sick of technology.

It’s never ending.

I take a picture of my child. Then, it takes ten minutes to decide which social media site I’m going to put it on. Not to mention debating on whether or not a filter looks better. Then, you get the choice to share it on multiple social media applications at ONE time. How fancy!

I can’t deal.

When you are sitting there talking to a group of your friends and all you see is that stupid glow of their phone? Them sitting there nodding, saying, “Yeah, sure”, when you are asking what kind of pizza they want to order.

I will cut you.

Then, I find myself going to my phone, that’s CHARGING, to check my Facebook.

It needs to stop.

Are we this shallow? That we are more worried about how many likes our picture gets or how many favorites our Tweet gets that we can’t even make simple flipping conversation?

Have we become that couple who just sits on opposite ends of the couch, with the glow of our smartphone, tagging each other in funny cat vines?

Have we become those friends that have to screen shot an entire conversation with another person to find out what we should say next?

Have I become that daughter who will ignore calls from my mother but answer her texts?


So sad.

I admit, I live part cave woman style at my house. I don’t have internet or cable. I actually don’t mind it at all except when I miss out on The Young and the Restless for a month and have NO clue about the REAL Jack getting shot!!

Still, my phone is able to get on Facebook. Instagram, Twitter, whatnot with that fancy data package I have through AT&T.

I find myself grabbing my phone and automatically hitting that blue “F” without even noticing that I’m doing it.


I despise you.

That is all.


Life Goes On?

I remember being smaller. I’m not sure what age. Just….small. I remember spending the night at  Granny’s house. Doing the number fill ins because those were the ones she saved for me because she didn’t like them.

I remember I was at that age where I needed to wear deodorant because my under pits smelled like butt, but I was too embarrassed to ask my mom to buy me some Teen Spirit. I was laying in bed with Granny and she said “Casey, is that you I smell? I think we should buy you some deodorant.” Problem solved. Thanks Gran.

I remember coming home from school  and walking into a clean room with fresh sheets and vacuumed carpet. There, on the pillow, was a note Granny had scribbled on the back of an envelope saying , ” I hope you had a great day. I wanted to clean up a little. I love you so much.” I tossed every note in a little box.

Then, I remember moving in with Granny in high school. I believe me and my mom were on strike about getting new floors in our house. Trying to prove a point to dad? I’m not quite sure. I just know I slept with my Granny every night. I got ready for graduation in her bedroom.

I remember moving to Cape thinking I was moving in with the “love of my life”. Only to find myself going and back and forth from Cape to Granny’s. She let me in every time.

I remember my parents splitting up. I don’t remember much during that time considering all the booze and whatnot I was consuming. I’d come to Gran’s, messed up, and she’d cook me food and let me sleep. We would talk the next morning, drinking coffee on the porch. She would ask me why I’d go “throw a drunk” thinking it would help. I never had any answers. She never expected any.

I remember declining her phone calls because I didn’t want to lie to her and tell her I was okay when I was not. I didn’t want her to ask if I was drinking and driving. I didn’t want her to ask me to come home.

I remember telling her I was pregnant. That I wasn’t keeping it. She was there for me the whole time.

I remember finally getting a smidge sober. After ending a very unstable relationship, I was able to get into nursing school.

I remember the money she “loaned” to me, knowing I could never pay her back.

I remember getting ready in her bedroom to graduate from nursing school.

I remember telling Granny I was pregnant. She was so nervous for me. I think because she still saw me as a little girl. Even still, she supported me.

I remember her coming to the hospital to meet Miss Sophie Laverne. Granny fell in love, yet again, with another one of us.

I remember all the horsey knee rides, songs sung, little blue bird and red bird stories, biscuits and gravy cooked, socks put on, socks kicked off and socks put on again, sleepovers, eating powdered donuts on the potty chair, and front porch playing Sophie got to have with her.

I remember asking Granny “Can I have this when you die?” – Just random things. Just t be funny, maybe? She’d reply with “Don’t talk like that, Casey. You can have whatever you want. I won’t be here.” I took quite a few things…

I remember her quality of life declining. How she always remained calm about her poor health but worries about my laundry being caught up.

I remember the day I finally realized she would not be leaving the hospital this time.

I remember preparing myself for years for her death. I’ve written speeches that I would give at her funeral. Chose songs that I wanted to be played. Thought about how devastated I would be.

I remember the day she died. It was nothing like anything I’ve ever felt before. My world shattered in a million different pieces. During the week of her funeral, things just kind of kept me occupied.

Now, reality has set in. I will never have that chance of watching Y&R or be able to go down on a Saturday and cook us all breakfast.

I can’t find that little box of her notes anywhere…..

Her life here has ended and mine is supposed to go on.