Author: Lauren Stamps

If you were born in the early 2000s, you’ve probably played Minecraft at least once. Maybe you were the kid who was obsessed with it and had all the survival guides and three editions of the same game, or maybe you were the one who was tired of hearing about it all the time and cringed at any cube shaped object for the next few years. I, no surprise here, was the former. One of my favorite times of the day was arriving home from school and hopping on my Xbox 360 to greet my virtual dogs and cats inside my poorly built spruce treehouse. Times were simpler when my only worries were if I could find my way out of a cave before nightfall and forgetting to grab enough sand for my windows. 

Now it’s 2020, and I’m almost seventeen years old. It’s so surreal to type that out or even just say it. It still doesn’t feel quite real. I miss being that little girl on the playground with her iPad mini playing pocket edition with my friends over the school wifi. I miss being that little girl blowing out the 12 candles on her grass block birthday cake. I miss being that little girl huddled around her friends telling their made-up encounters with Herobrine. I just wish I had cherished those moments more and stopped worrying about what people thought of me. If I could go back and tell my younger self something, it would probably be along the lines of “there is no such thing as being ‘cool’ in elementary school; just have fun and make the most of it.” 

What brought all of this back was a single track that came on Spotify while I was doing my history homework.

Maybe it’s a tad pathetic that I started to cry over this, but I’ve reached the point in my life where I’m not ashamed to say I was brought to tears by the OST of a kids’ game. It brought a great big goofy smile to my face, and I couldn’t help but reminisce over hunting for the ingredients for cake and trying to calculate the time before my online friends would come home from school so we could ‘eat’ it together. Finding diamonds by lava pools, showing off to my friends how I could make a nether portal without even picking up an obsidian block, building beacons of dirt into the sky so I wouldn’t lose my house, and even fighting the ender dragon for the first time—they’re all great memories to look back on. It makes me think of that one Winnie the Pooh quote I had as my phone background for a while.

“We didn’t realize we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun.”

Maybe I’ll take a late grade for my class and pop on Minecraft for a bit. I wonder if my dogs are still waiting for me.

The Dinner and Dialogue assignment we had to do early on in the year is probably my least favorite piece I’ve produced here so far. However, I felt like I should share it publicly on here, because even though I’m definitely not proud of this piece, it helped me view spending time with my family as not something to dread, but rather something to enjoy. It made me realize that even though we definitely have some disagreements, I need to relish in the time I have with them and make every moment count.

When I first heard about doing this assignment, I internally cringed and groaned. Dinner with my entire family of 3, a massive number of people, I know, sounded like a political nightmare. I could only imagine the awkward exchanges, the scoffs from my mother, and my father playing the role of mediator during it all. I feel like my father expected this as well because when I came to him with this assignment, he had a look of excitement, sure, but also one of slight dread. The last time we ate as a family was probably the last holiday.

However, when the time came around to sit down and eat, we were both pleasantly surprised. Our dining room table was completely covered by paperwork and random items, so we sat in the living room to eat our microwavable dinners. Outside were my mother’s hummingbird feeders swarming with ruby-throated, tiny emerald birds beating their little wings faster than the eye can see, along with a few outdoor cats pouncing upwards to grab them. The shining birds were always quick enough to avoid the swiping of their paws, and the slender felines would lay down in front of the window after a tiring workout.

Gazing out at the vision of nature outside, my father brought up a new ice cream place he had discovered while he traveled for work, and that took up most of the conversation. For at least half an hour, my father went on about the giant milkshakes and cheesecake ice cream.

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant, Chris?” asked my mother.
“Yeah, but this was definitely worth it,” he replied, cracking a smile.

The dinner went on like this for around another thirty minutes as we talked about our days at work and school, along with new Netflix releases and music. It was surprisingly enjoyable, and as much as my teenage mind hates to admit this, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.

Content Warning: eating disorders, self-harm.

I’ve always been extremely critical of myself throughout my life. There would be times where I would just stare in the mirror and maliciously find every “flaw” littered around my body and mull over for hours on how to fix them. Not a single blemish, scar, or stretch mark was safe from my eagle eye of judgement, and I even viewed that as a positive trait. Not even my personality or social interactions were safe. Every slip up and possibly annoying trait echoed in my mind incessantly, and I had to make constant notes on how to improve myself and better behave in the future.

It wasn’t until I developed an eating disorder and went to therapy that I realized what a horrible mindset I had. Becoming the “ideal” had absorbed my life to the point where I couldn’t focus on or even think about anything else. There would be times where I would get so fed up with my body I’d sharpen and dig my fingernails into my skin to punish myself for just being me— to punish myself for not being “the ideal.” This period of my life still affects my physical and mental health to this day, but I think I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m fully content with myself and who I am.

It started with me challenging that so-called “ideal” in my brain. Who decides what the “ideal” even is? Why should I worry so much about it? The answer is very complicated and, quite honestly, could be a topic for an entirely separate blog post. Past me would jump to the surveys and studies on the internet and say something along the lines of: “The majority of men prefer this body type and this nose shape, so clearly it’s the “ideal” and most desirable.” Even then I realized my obsession with this was because of my fear of inadequacy and not being good enough for my partner. A pit would form in my stomach whenever I was faced with the mere idea of a relationship, and visions of being a regret of my future husband or wife would haunt my every waking and dreaming thought.

The answer was so simple and what everyone had been telling me.

“If they really want to spend the rest of their life with you, then you’re already their ideal.”

“Well, what if someone leaves me for someone else? Someone more ‘ideal?'”

“Then you may not have been their ‘ideal,’ but there will be someone else out there who will love you just the way you are.”

It took a lot, and I mean a lot, of work to get to that point. Thing is, I wasn’t even close to being done. I still needed to come to make a mends with my body and eliminate every other person from my view. I needed to forgive, or rather, thank my body for being itself. I needed to let myself be me. And I did. I chose to love myself.

I feel as if MSA was a perfect environment for this newfound mindset to cultivate and grow. The students here value genuineness and and individuality more than anyone I’ve ever met, and they really do wish to support you in any way possible. I’ve never felt so accepted and like I didn’t need to chase after some “ideal” to be accepted and loved— I just needed to accept and love myself and others. 

I am my ideal, and I am proud of my progress.

I probably could have written this much better than I did, but after a crisis at 2:06 am in the early morning of the due date, there isn’t much time to revise or rewrite. It’s been something I’ve wanted to explore in my writing for a very long time now, and although I may not have executed it in the best way possible, it’s down on paper and into the world, just like I wanted it to be. Typing my final stroke as the clock reaches 3:15 am, I wish you all a good day. 🙂

It’s hard to believe that it’s already been a whole month since I’ve stepped on campus for the first time. Somehow it feels like ages, but at the same time, only a few days. I’ve lost any regular sense of time being here, and I’m sure that isn’t just a problem I’ve been having. 2020 has proven itself worthy to be stamped into the history books for centuries. With a global pandemic, the current state of the country, and one of the most important elections of all time hanging from its belt, it’s more than qualified for a couple of chapters dedicated to it and its effects.

It’s impacted my education in more ways than just one. With virtual learning making things more difficult to grasp and the intense toll this year has on my mental health, staying on task in school is nearly impossible. For example, I’m currently writing this at 11:56 pm the day before it’s due, which is something I would have never done before. I’ve spent way more nights crying in the shower than I’d like to admit, and the amount of visits I’ve made to the nurse’s office outnumber how many times I’ve seen Promare, and if you know me at all, you’ll understand that isn’t a small feat.

My first week here was arguably the most stressful one I’ve ever gone through, and it was a miracle I didn’t have to leave campus. A last-minute schedule change, an ungodly workload, and just an enormous constant state of confusion is enough to drive anyone insane, especially someone with a preexisting anxiety disorder.

However, as horrible as some of my days were, I wouldn’t go back and change my choice to come here for anything. The people I’ve met, experiences I’ve had, and memories I’ve made make up for any stress or despair I’ve gone through. This is truly a unique and special place to be, and I’m beyond lucky to be able to attend. The laughter shared over a pizza at Fox’s, the delighted yells from me and my friends as we ran down the sidewalks of downtown Brookhaven, and the intimate moments shared over the phone at 2 am are all things I will cherish forever, and I am more than willing to go through those stressful weeks a million times over just for those experiences.

So as the clock reaches 12:30 am and my eyes begin to struggle to stay open, I’m smiling at the wonderful people I’ve met and long to grow close to during my future weeks here at MSA. I know no matter what struggles my classmates and I will have to face, we will make this our year. We will rise, we will fly, and we will shine.

“So, what do you want to do with your life?”

It’s a question that’s haunted me for many, many years now. Always in the back of my mind and scooping at my brain matter with knives and spoons. It devoured my mental health daily with a resounding burp. It was scary not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, and I really had no idea. 

For a while, I was determined on going into criminal justice or the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI, but I eventually realized it wasn’t for me. Researcher, lawyer, psychiatrist, screenwriter— they all passed through my mind, and for a decent amount of time, too. Every few months I felt like I knew exactly what I wanted, but now I think I really do.

Every person who’s been through even a bit of high school has that one teacher or faculty member who made things bearable for them. In between long, boring classes filled with subtle bullying and busy work, there was one teacher that always knew how to engage the class and make people excited to come—someone who was always there to help students out and listen to what they had to say. I want to be that person. I want to make high school bearable for those who need it and to be the person struggling kids can confide in if they need help. It doesn’t even need to be a teacher position either; I could become a school counselor or psychologist and still achieve my goal.

I’ve always had this desire to change the world or leave my mark. I’m pretty sure everyone has. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that desire can’t be fulfilled by everyone. So why not try and change the lives of as many individual people as possible? That’s something everyone has the power to do, and I want to be able to make life just a bit easier for the ones who arguably need it the most: high school students.

Suicide is the third leading cause of teenage death in America, and although this is a very complex topic, I know from experience that an unhealthy school environment only worsens the mental health of those already struggling and can raise the numbers exponentially. If I can save at least one child from ending their blooming life and becoming another statistic, I would consider my wish to be fulfilled.

I’m allowing myself to fully devolve into a basic white girl for this one. There will be an appreciation for pumpkin spice, big sweaters, and vanilla lattes, so be warned. If I owned a pair of Uggs, they’d probably be mentioned too. 

So, now since that’s out of the way, let’s get talking SPOOKY SEASON.

The chill breeze in the air, the subtle scent of autumn baked goods, and the hidden unshaved legs of women everywhere give the season such a joyful and chill vibe– one I look forward to every year. Walmart and other superstores have started bringing out their Halloween decorations, and my wallet’s getting skinnier by the second. My shopping cart’s constantly full of little pumpkin and cinnamon apple candles with costume accessories littered over them. Sweater weather is in full swing, and you bet I’m getting ready for it. Knit sweaters and corduroy pants are all I’m gonna be wearing, baby. Time to crack open my dark lipstick and a jug of apple cider because I’ve been waiting for this for ages.

Halloween has been my favorite holiday for most of my life, as I always loved to dress up in costumes and watch the Halloween specials on TV. Even today, I have a personal tradition of watching Cartoon Network’s Over the Garden Wall every October that’s lasted for a few years now. My fingers are itching to start carving pumpkins, brew pumpkin spice coffee, and stitch together costumes to wear. 

Of course, things are definitely going to be different now with Covid-19 knocking on everyone’s doors, but the spirit of autumn and Halloween will live on! I am certain of it. So go out there and get your vanilla lattes and eat discounted chocolate; you deserve it!

I’ve been staring at this blank screen for ages, and I’m not quite sure how I want this to begin. I’m also running out of time to come up with something for my first post, so I’m really gripping the roots of my hair here to think of an introduction. 

I suppose the best way to start off would be with the basics. My name is Lauren Stamps, and I’m a sixteen-year-old junior literary student at the Mississippi School of the Arts. I enjoy writing, playing games, watching shows and movies ( ̶m̶o̶s̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶a̶n̶i̶m̶e̶), doing arts and crafts, and analyzing media and human culture. As for my plans for the future, I’m not sure. I’d obviously enjoy being a professional fiction writer, but that’s probably unlikely to happen. I’m still figuring out what I want to do, but being a journalist, an English/creative writing teacher, or having a research career in Anthropology or Psychology would be nice. I’m going with a ‘go with the flow’ attitude, hoping that future me will go on a sort of soul-searching journey in life and figure out what she wants to spend the rest of it doing. I understand that I will one day be that girl and will have to make these tough decisions myself, but that’s not my problem yet, you get me? 

Enough about writing about things that give me anxiety; let me get straight to the point. What am I planning to do with this blog?

In short: I’m not entirely sure. I’ll probably just come on here to write about what I enjoy or talk about things I feel like need to be talked about. I have some ideas to write about cringe culture, the beauty industry, movies I like, and a few other possibilities here and there. Maybe I’ll even post a bit of my literary work if I’m confident enough in it. Essentially what you’d expect from a blog like this from a person like me, really. I hope whatever comes out of this is pleasant or entertaining, or, at the very least, better than this first entry. Preferably with actual structure, too, but we’ll just have to wait and see.