Lately I've been under the strange impression that it's wrong for my blogs to be getting more serious (thus the most recent one). Maybe it's just who I am underneath; I forget that I'm way more serious than I let on to most. I guess I had even myself convinced.
I have a massive binder on the shelf above me that is full of poetry, stories and songs that I've been writing since I turned fifteen. Out of the hundreds upon hundreds of entries and hastily written scraps of imagination, I can maybe find three funny articles. I don't think humour suits me in writing.
From this collection, mostly poems about love and jealousy and the woes of a typically rebellious teen, I can see the progression of how I reached the place and person I am today. I still screw up...a lot. Way more than I admit; but I guess this, in its own way, is an admittance to the horrible brat I can be sometimes.
I love sarcasm. I feed off it like a frat boy discovering his first mini-bar. I incorporate it in every possible moment, but then get hurt when it's used against me. This, of course, makes me a hypocrite: the type of person I despise above all else. Once again, in itself, a hypocritical paradox. Sometimes I wonder if I'm completely mentally unsound, or just in desperate need of a padded room for awhile.
The inner workings of my mind always amaze me; I'm able to pull something out of thin air, present it in a pleasing way, and somehow remain objective enough to not rip it apart. I tend to over-analyze anything and everything, particularly that which I said and was said to me. For some reason, however, my mind is able to keep that judgmental side of myself at bay while I write. The same is unfortunately not true in regards to other aspects of my life. I used to criticize my mom for needing to constantly analyze absolutely every situation. Then I became her. It's not a bad thing, honest. I love my mom. And now that I have a deeper understanding of what it means to think somewhat the way she does, I can better appreciate the way she views the world. I think seeing her from the outside also gives me fascinating insight into my own tendencies.
Should I be committed for thinking the way I do? Probably. For the way I act? Most definitely. But as this is highly unlikely due to the shortage of space in mental hospitals lately, I think I'm being given a new outlook into why I am the way I am. Also, more importantly, I'm constantly in the process of changing myself to (hopefully) become a better person. What good is realizing my deficiencies if I never plan to do a thing about it?
I remember the first time I really attempted to change who I was into the person I wanted to be. I was eighteen, just graduated, and had finally realized that I was not happy with myself the way I was. I was absolutely determined to become the woman of God I was called to be, and not just sit around waiting on the world to change. I started a journal with a hard-hitting theme: anything and everything that's wrong with Leanne. Every time I conquered a new issue, I immediately tackled another. Sometimes I backslid and ended up working with the same problem for a few weeks at a time, but after only a few months I was a completely changed person. Looking back on the things I used to struggle with, I can hardly believe that was ever me. The problem with the system came when I thought I finally had it all together. I stopped working on new things that God was bringing to my attention and simply let myself be where I was in that moment. Now when I look back, I can see the foolishness in that decision. I've still come so far since then, but not at the same rapid pace as when I was consciously working on all that I was struggling with.
I think I need to get back into the same old routine. I won't post what I'm working on, but every time I see this blog, it will be a reminder to continue working out my issues. I honestly want to change, I just desperately need God's help to get there.
