Author: Savannah Phelps

Moving is hectic. Rather you are moving miles away, or just down the driveway, it is a very stressful time. You see, my mother is moving in with her fiancé, and I’m moving into a small house on my grandparents’ property. My grandparents are moving on to the same property, and my older brother and his fiancé are moving into my grandparents’ old house. It’s been a wild experience, but it has actually been very beneficial for me.

I have bookshelves at both my old house and my grandparents’ old house, and they are loaded with notebooks and folders full of my writing from over the years. I haven’t opened any of them in ages because I have been trying to let that girl go. I have been trying to forget how she felt, and why she felt that way, but I had to decide rather to throw all those notebooks away, or go through them and save something worth saving.

Now keep in mind, I am talking about fifty or more notebooks full of scattered thoughts. Who would want to go through a twelve-to-fifteen-year-old’s entire collection of senseless emotions? Not me. I wanted to trash it all and move on with my life, and I was fully prepared to do it. I threw them all in a box, and vowed to get rid of them.

This weekend, my best friend came over to help me with the moving, and she stumbled across a ripped up, red folder. She threw it at me, and I opened it thoughtlessly. Inside was a short story and poem that I had written is eighth grade. These to pieces are the only award-winning pieces I have, mainly because I was too terrified to submit anything. As I read over them, something connected inside of me. I remembered writing them; I remembered how it felt. They weren’t my greatest pieces, but I remembered how proud eighth grade me was when I heard that voicemail telling me that I had won first place in poetry and short-story in the Pike County Literary Competition. I haven’t felt that pride in a long time.

Back then, I was convinced that I was an amazing writer. It was before I had real things to worry about. It was before the competitiveness busted inside me. It was that period after my world fell apart for the fist time and before I lost myself. It was that period when I knew who I was and I was proud.

I decided to read through the rest of the notebooks, and it broke my heart. I was finding my voice then. Everything was so bare. It was horrible writing, but it was a beautiful thought.

A weight was lifted off me. I felt a little more free than I did before. I could feel my soul finding that passion again. It has been missing for a while.

I guess sometimes you have to find your younger-self, before you can figure out who you are.

I swing left to right as the foot inside the boot that I am connected to makes it way across the gravel. The pebbles look up at me with hateful expressions as the heel of the boot shifts down to push them deeper into the dirt. I can hear the minerals beneath me roll, clash, and even bust under the pressure. Of course, they hate me. They spend their lives on the ground, waiting to be stepped on a buried. I can only imagine how they see me. Up here, jumping around without a care in the world. It’s not true though. No, not at all.

I am actually terrified. Every day the wind tugs me side to side, and I can feel the tough leather material of the boot rubbing my back as I scrape against it. I can smell the staleness of sweat around this human’s ankle. It slowly makes my hinge rust. Every day I become more and more worn and tethered. I was once stark black but after months of repeating the same routine, my paint began to chip. Now, I’m almost entirely silver. This human is now finding herself in frustration every morning because of the struggle to move me up the teeth of the zipper.

There are so many things that can go wrong up here, and there is no way to predict when any of it will happen. I’m getting old, and with age comes breakage. Soon enough my rusted hinge will erode enough to break me off. Then what? I’m left to be washed away and forgotten. That thought haunts me. I would absolutely hate to spend the rest of my days not seeing nothing more than the bottom shoes and the sky. I guess in that sense, I’m scared to live like the pebbles. It must be so unsatisfying.

It could be worse. This human could just give up on this old boot and bury us away with the rest of her “favorite shoes”. I have spoken to the ones that came before me. They all say the closet is a forsaken place. They never see the light. They live in eternal darkness. Oh! How terrible that must be, to not just be stuck looking at the same thing, but forevermore be blind to the world outside. That is my worst nightmare. I couldn’t bear that kind of life.

So, to the pebbles, I wish to inform you that my life isn’t all that great either, and my future may possibly be equivalent to yours or perhaps worse. I may be swinging above you, but just because I am higher up, doesn’t mean I’m any better off. I hope that, if I fall, I do not fall into your enraged mouths. Instead, I hope that we can find peace and understanding to these grudges that you hold against me. I mean no harm. I’m just fulfilling my purpose.

 

This is an update on the first week of my diet.

I am not losing pounds, but I feel like I’ve dropped a couple centimeters considering that my pants are beginning to button again. I know that it’s not much, but it’s the first week. I feel like it’s a real accomplishment.

It has been really hard though. I never realized how much I actually eat throughout my normal routine, and my body is very confused. I usually eat late at night, so now I’m getting these hunger pains. They aren’t that bad, but sometimes they wake me up. Drinking water is helping a lot with the hunger. If my stomach starts getting angry, I just chug some water, and it shuts up. I cannot call out to many cons at the moment. The first week actually went pretty well.

I will tell you a pro that I am really enjoying though. I have so much energy. I have gone from being so tired I cannot stay awake anywhere to being fully aware and awake. I’m so energetic that it kind of keeps me up at night, but it’s okay because I’m still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after I wash the sleep off.

I wake up, fix my coffee, eat my yogurt, get ready, and go down stairs to eat breakfast. I am very grateful that the breakfasts here are a decent size. I honestly don’t think I could handle eating so little for lunch if I didn’t have a good breakfast, and dinner is a godsend. I am appreciating the concept of dinner more and more. It’s not because I’m starving, but it’s more because I’m actually hungry. Usually, I’m never actually hungry. I just eat when I see food. Now, my body actually wants it, and that makes the meal so much better.

I am getting a little bit of judgement, as I expected I would. People just really don’t understand why I feel the need to lose weight. I understand that I am not fat, but I’m also uncomfortable living in this body at the weight I am currently at. This weight loss I’m on a quest for is for my confidence and the way I look at myself.  I don’t want people to think that I am doing this because I’m fat, or even because I want to look like or better than someone else. That is not the case here. I’m doing this for myself and myself only.

For those of you who have been supporting me, or even just letting me do what I wish, thank you. I have high hopes here! I truly appreciate the acceptance.

So many things are happening at once, and it is all leaving me with a whirlwind of emotions. I’m stressed, terrified, nervous, a little down, and very happy. It’s horribly extraordinary. It feels like I’m scrolling through Facebook, seeing a young man with down-syndrome graduate and then a young woman is missing. I see a child being bullied and then a dog with paralysis learn to walk. My heart is on a rollercoaster, and I’m not sure if I want to get off.

One part of my life is being drowned in chaos. I need to do this, and then I need to do that. This is coming up, but I need to prepare for that. School and home are beginning to bleed into each other and make this really ugly color. I have expectations to meet, deadline creeping up on me, and people depending on me. Do I get to breathe anytime soon?

Then comes that part of my life that wants to run and hide. I am a junior now. I go to a school where everyone is talented. I am intimidated. Next year is right around the corner. I need to start researching scholarships and reassuring myself on colleges and majors. My ACT score needs to shoot up ten points. I am wholeheartedly scared. Everyone keeps telling me not to worry about it right now, but I can’t help it. I’m too paranoid I’m going to wait too long and not be ready. I stress enough as it is, what if I get to college and have a heart attack? The whole idea is giving me anxiety.

Things are getting crazy back at home. Friends are turning against each other; my old school had a bomb threat. It’s unbelievable. Those who graduated last year are tearing themselves apart with pressure. My friends are hurting. It breaks my heart.

Don’t worry though, there is light in my little dungeon. My boyfriend is going back to school, trying to get a car and a license. He is getting a new job that will treat him better and benefit him wildly. He is a little freaked out, but I am so proud of him. He woke up one day and decided to get his life on track. It inspires me to see people who have reached their lowest point, stand up and try again.

I’m trying to not let everything get to me. I know that life isn’t easy, especially not here. I may cry from time to time; I may even get angry, but there is light. Somewhere on this page-of-life, you will find a story of a girl not giving up, and despite all the hardship you are facing, I want you to be inspired to keep going too.

My fingertips graze down his arm leisurely, and I can feel the hairs on his arm stand to attention,almost as if a Sargent has called each of their individual names. His eyes remain closed, but I can see the movement beneath his eyelids. His breathing is smooth, and as I move my hand over his chest, I can feel the gentle current beneath my fingers. He is so beautiful, skin sprayed with milk chocolate freckles, the same color of his eyes, and that German split in the cartilage on the tip of his nose is so mesmerizing to me. I love his lips; those full, soft pink pillows lure me to him, and the voice that dribbles from them is so entrancing. He can calm the waves that are my feelings with just his universe-given sound. The strong nectarous words he whispers to me late at night over the phone are the endearments I need when I can no longer function.

His arms twitch unexpectedly before I realize that they are wrapped around me loosely. It that daze of his addictive warmth I feel my mind reaching serenity, and I exhale in length. He nuzzles his nose into my hair and does the opposite of me, breathing in the scent of pina-colada shampoo. “Beautiful,” he whispers in his half-asleep murmur. Now it is my hair’s turn to stand to attention. My heart almost vibrates with love for my inamorato as I lean up and press my lips to his slightly parted ones. I sense his attempt to smile amidst his sleep fog, but he is rendered unsuccessful and unconscious. I do not complain though. Observing his usually pinched features relaxed in a basic comatose from exhaustion is such a pure picture. His warm, shallow breaths fanning my face and his quiet snores are tranquilizing. Calloused fingers stroke the small of my back, and dark brown tendrils fall into his shut eyes.

He is my living piece of textured art, painted with delicate strokes and built to a rough sculpted design. Every pale color that encompasses his flesh, every angle that constructs the shape of him, and every dimension that makes him real is so deeply admired by me. We curl into each other, wrapped in the other’s arm. In our tangled-up true, innocent state. I find myself dozing away, melting into his warmth. My fair-skinned love. My pastel masterpiece.

This weekend was so carbonated. My mother, best friend, cousin, and boyfriend all teamed up and threw me a surprise birthday party. It was the sweetest thing. I knew about it the entire time, but its just the fact that they put the effort in to do something special for me.

Some of my friends from my old school came. That was a big surprise. It was hilarious when I went to walk into my room, and he walked out, looked right at me, turned back into my room, and slammed my door in my face. Apparently, I had gifts and people in my room. That includes my boyfriend and my cousin.

When the twins from South Pike showed up (Neveah and Destiny) I was blown away. I hadn’t seen them in a good four months, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed them. My best friend was in charge of the guest list, and I’m really grateful she went to the extent of bringing people she knew I would want to see.

My big brother came with his fiancé. He was just as annoying and embarrassing as usual, but I just let it happen. I never see the idiot anymore, and I suppose I miss the rough-housing a little bit. To top it off, he got me a polaroid camera! I was so freaking happy. I have been wanting one for ages now. I barely see him, yet he still knew what to get me.

My future step dad’s family came. His mother gave me a plague that she painted a feather pen on to symbolize my writing. He gave me a beautiful necklace with my name engraved on it. It was all so thoughtful, and I am so grateful.

My best friend showed me how much she really knows me. she bought me a pair of unicorn slippers and a cacti covered wallet. It was so sweet. I had mentioned my want for the two items to her before, but she took it to new extent and really showed me how much she pays attention.

It was a great party, and I truly enjoyed myself. I love everyone who came, and I am forever grateful to my mother, best friend, cousin, and boyfriend for going through all that trouble and caring for me so much that they’d do this for me. I couldn’t ask for better people in my life.

I am trying. I promise you that I am. I have been doing my breathing exercises every morning before I get out of bed and wake my roommates. I have been taking my medications mostly everyday. I have been allowing myself to cry. These are all things I have always struggled with. I never really wanted to accept that I had a problem, despite my constant writing about it. I truly wanted to believe there was nothing wrong with me, and even when I did accept it, I didn’t want to do anything about it. I just wanted to live normally without having to pace myself. Now I am in this environment, and I am beginning to realize its importance.

You see, I have psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, also know as pseudo seizures. If you do not know what this is, it consists of getting overwhelmed and losing consciousness. It isn’t a constant thing for me. It happens every few months or maybe every few weeks if I am at a bad place in my head. It is really scary for not only me but for the people around me as well. I am aware of this, so I have been trying my absolute best to stay calm and underwhelmed. I never realized how hard doing just that is. Especially when I obsess over every little thing. Sometimes I can feel myself starting to get light headed and nauseous, and my natural reaction is to stress about stressing. I try to force myself to calm down even though I know forcing it will only make it worse. It is really hard. I am almost scared to feel anything at this point.

Sometimes in class I will start over-thinking about what I am going to say. This is something completely normal for me, but now the expectations are so high. I find myself stressing about small details like vocabulary or structure of my response even though it’s verbal. It’s completely pointless, but I can’t help it. This will lead to my mind falling blank and a wave of dizziness trying to take me down. If you ever see me staring at nothing with a blank expression on my face, I am probably trying to stabilize myself. Some say I go extremely pale, I’m not sure. This is the warning, especially if I am standing up, that I might faint.

The situation does not really affect me too much. Yes, I have to be very careful about my reaction to things, but I have pretty much trained myself to stabilize when necessary. I just need to get used to the new environment and all the responsibility I now hold. Once I finally relax, I shouldn’t have to worry so much about sending people into chaos because of a stress seizure.

 

 

I have made a decision. I am going to lose weight. I have reach the maximum capacity my psych deems tolerable, and it is time I take a step back and consider my routines and habits because I cannot handle this. I understand that some of you will look at me and tell me that I don’t need to lose weight, but you don’t understand how much this is messing with my head. If I don’t do something now, it’s only going to get worse. I cannot go back to the girl I used to be. I was miserable then. My life was at it’s worst when I was over 200 pounds, and there is no way I will allow myself to fall back into that depression. I refuse.

The first thing that I am doing is adding green tea into my diet and subtracting any sugary drinks. That means no more sugary coffee, just honey and a little creamer. I will also be adding ginger and cinnamon to my coffee and green tea to awaken my metabolism even more. I will drink the green tea at night before bed and at lunch. The coffee will try to stay in the morning along with a shot of apple cider vinegar, but my goal is to minimalize my coffee intake to two cups a day. 

The next thing that I am attempting to do is kind of related to fasting. I am cutting lunch out of my day and sticking to only breakfast and dinner. Breakfast is important because it sets you up for the day. Breakfast wakes your body up and fills you up, but you have more time to burn it off since you eat it in the morning. Dinner feeds that part of you that needs to eat before bed. Your body and metabolism is exhausted and needs something to wake it up a little, so dinner is very important. Honestly, all I need for lunch is a granola bar and a cup of yogurt, and I’m set. What is the point in over eating when I barely have time to eat anyway? Instead of shoveling food into my mouth, why not pace myself with something small and wash it down with some green tea? That is the goal.

Another important goal is to insure that I get out everyday. So, after classes I plan on going for a walk. Everyone has been telling me to go to the gym, and while I may consider it, I find it will be more beneficial if I receive some vitamin D whilst exercising. Vitamin D is important for energy, and I’m going to need a lot of energy. 

Then comes the obvious thing, I need to drink more water throughout the day. It is crucial that I stay hydrated because if I’m thirsty, my body will confuse it for hunger. I am going to start bringing my water bottle with me everywhere. It must be water because while green tea is good for me, it contains to much caffeine just like coffee. I need to keep the caffeine intake to a minimal so my body stops relying on it for energy. Water. Water. Water.

I hope this change helps me in my quest to fit in my clothes again. I will keep updating on how it is going. I am not sure how long I am going to do this for, but I am hoping to get back down to 140 pounds before New Years. I need all the support possible. Even if you think it’s dumb and that I don’t need to lose weight, I ask of you to respect my decision and try to keep me on track.  

Klunk

This month marks one year since my very close friend passed away in a texting and driving accident. I have been trying my absolute best to stay calm and positive, but as the fifteenth draws nearer, the memories become more and more painful to flashback to. I have been dreaming about him, crying about him in the shower or while I’m alone. It is getting more and more difficult to cope with.

Even worse, he was the main one I went to when I was in desperate need of a smile, a hug, a laugh, or just a distraction. I cannot distract myself from this. No, instead I keep spacing out and remembering the way he looked sitting on the dock of my pond with a fishing pole in hand and complaining about how the fish never bite at my house. I remember me always responding with a snarky response about how he was too loud, or how his face scared the fish away. I remember his exasperated gasps and hard chuckles. I am so confused as to how something could warm my being up so much but break my heart in a million pieces all at the same time.

The feeling doesn’t dissipate. It is so constant that I have zoned out of at least seventy percent of the conversations I have had thus far since the month began just to see his face in my mind, or maybe I couldn’t hear what was being said because his voice plays in my head like a song, a very loud and sad song. I feel like I’m letting this get to me to much because it is interfering with my ability to associate, which already is not very good. I am either rambling or spacing out, and I am scared that people are getting the wrong idea about me.

I have never been good at dealing with problems, and I have definitely never been “good” at grieving, if that is even something one can be good at. I want to simultaneously be alone and surrounded by people, to break down and be positive, and to be away from the memories and still remember. My mind is contradicting itself and controlling it is impossible, and it is running faster than my mouth ever could.

I just miss him. Honestly, I know that all of these emotions I am feeling are nothing more than misery. I am fully aware that eventually it won’t hurt so much, and I will be able to look back and smile at the memories, as I know he’d prefer, instead of cry. I have been through this process many times before. Still, I currently can not shake the ghost that is haunting my thoughts. That green eyed, big nosed all around country boy who loved everyone and anything no matter what they thought of him will never leave my head, and I do not want him to. I will forever smell his cologne, hear his laugh, see his smile, taste his name in my mouth, and feel his presence. He will become part of me and my every sense just as those who I have loved and lost before him. One day it will not be so painful. One day his engraved name on my heart will not sting, but he will be there. He will always be with me.

Klunk, if your spirit remains, I hope you see this, and I hope you’re free. This is for you. I love you my dear friend. Rest Easy.

I often feel inferior to the people I meet here. So many of them are extremely multi-talented, and I’m just not. I love writing. Writing is my passion, but it is also the only thing I am actually good at. I hate to use the word envy, but it stands bluntly honest in the way I feel. I can only dream of being agile enough to dance, having an angelic voice, knowing technology enough to create film, or even have the ability to keep a straight face while reciting lines from a script.

I can practically hear my mother’s voice in my head saying “You can do anything you set your mind to.” Don’t get me wrong, I do not doubt my ability to create art through words. I simply wish I could do more. I suppose I just wasn’t created to be an intense multi-talented right brain artist, but I look at the art created by the people around me, and the feeling of hopelessness cascades over my admiration. I hate it. I truly hate it. I wish I could just be happy with the gift I do have and not be so selfish as to crave more and more. Why do I feel the need to excel in everything? Why do I feel the need to bash myself when I do not succeed. I remember making my first B in third grade. I cried for days. I would not let go of the fact that I wasn’t the best anymore. I am fully aware I cannot have that mindset here. You do not have to tell me. It is just really hard to grow from my habits.

I turned ambition into something dark and evil, and it eats away at my every thought. I have this constant need to compare myself to everyone and everything, and the most ironic part is that my mind never allows me to come out on top. I suppose that is just the intelligent side of me saying “Accept that you will never be perfect.” But, that part of my head is too quiet. The ridiculous and unpleasable part likes to scream very loudly, so the gentle and logical is drowned out to a very dull murmur. It is torturous never being good enough for myself. I am so tired of never being able to fully enjoy other’s art because it is better that I can do. I honestly just want to be happy with myself. I guess that is to much to ask of myself.