Regrets. Guilt.

Regrets suck.

Guilt is no place to live.

This is nothing I should know.

It's the Christian thing to not regret and mindlessly repeat the phrase "let God use your mistakes." ...Or something like that. To believe in a grace and trust that there's no reason to feel this guilt. It's all blanketed in a sense of forgiveness.

I know it's true. But it's another thing entirely to act like that, and not just say it.

I do a decent job of not regreting. I screw up. Beat myself up a bit. Sometimes more than I should. But give me a day and I can move on. At least most of the time. Except for this one. No matter how many sunrises I receive, it's all the same. That same regret that promises to haunt me and remind me of that Sunday afternoon back in May. Everytime I see those scars.

Sometimes I wonder. What if no word came out of my mouth that I didn't believe for myself as well? Like all of this about grace and mercy and truth and honesty. I don't think I'd be talking or writing as much. I don't think any word would form at all.

I've been told, I've heard so many times to not regret and not live in such a place as guilt. But when it comes to this, it seems just about as possible as me waking up in the morning to find no scars and my life just like it was not too long ago.

kadi.

Honesty and Truth and Love.

I'm a teenage girl, 15. Glance at me and you'll see a normal kid, probably rude and doesn't care about others. Probably one of those teenyboppers that drool over every guy and doesn't have a brain that you know of.

That's what most people think. That's how most people would view us. Like this guy I met today.

I went with my mom to Hallmark to get Christmas ornaments. We go every year, she gets us (me and my brothers) an ornament and when we move out, we'll take them with us. But this year, I was hoping to make mine mean a bit more.

I support some amazing organizations. One of the newer ones being (Product)RED. I heard that they were working with Hallmark and to carry some stuff in the store. I was hoping one of the ornaments would be a (Product)RED. Sure enough, there was one. Red heart that says (inspi)RED.

This guy that worked there had talked to me and my mom while we were looking at the stuff. Cool guy, funny. He scanned in our items when we were checking out.

"Why did you choose this ornament? Was it because it's a heart?"

You see, he saw me. Figured that since I'm a teenage girl, I must like anything pink or red and a heart.

Nope. Not exactly.

"No. I actually support Product(RED) and heard that you guys were working with them."

"Oh. Most people come in and don't even know about that."

Sad. People "support" organizations and don't even know what they are about. I know a few people that see me wearing To Write Love on Her Arms shirts and ask me how to buy them, without even knowing the story behind it and what they believe in. But they see the shirt. And learn you can get the same one in purple. It looks cute. They have to get it...

I don't act like a lot of people I come in contact with. I ask why. How. I see someone on the side of the street and want to run up and hug them, let them know people still know how to love. I'll be out with my dad when he makes fun of someone. I want to sit down with that person and explain that not everyone is like that. Not everyone is blind and uncaring.

I love people and truly want them to know that. I don't go around and throw that word about. Love. But, instead, I believe that love is really the movement. Love changes things. It gives hope and freedom. It forgives. Love is always there, never changing, never failing. True love doesn't give up on you just when you need someone.

That's who I am. Not some crazy girl that is obessessed with pink and hearts and name brand purses and doesn't see anything else but that. It's great to like pink and hearts and purses, but when that's all you see, there's a problem. When you only see a celebrity and want to be just like them. When you only see that cute guy and don't care that he bullies the new kid or someone who can't connect with anyone else. Like those purses. Like the anything pink. Like all of that. But also work to see change in yourself and in others. Don't be what the world expects you to be. Prove them wrong and show them that you know how to think and act and live and go against everything this world teaches us. Show them that you believe in so much more. Show them that you care about the person who doesn't shop at American Eagle and get a new car for their sixteenth birthday. Be the change everyone wants to see, but few know how to carry out.

Don't let them stereotype you. Let them know there is still honesty and truth and love in this life we find ourselves in.

kadi.

Tuesday.

Today is Saturday. Tomorrow, Sunday. That much closer to Tuesday. Eh.

Y'see, I have "issues" (as a friend of mine likes to say). But I keep quiet and don't say much. No one knows the whole story. At least for right now. My youth pastor knows just the "what" not "why", "when"... He insists on me telling my parents. Basically, if I want to go to Africa this summer with the youth group, that's what I'm going to have to do.

So, I decided. Tuesday. My dad will be in Kentucky, so I don't have to tell him just then. Only my mom. Dad'll get mad. He will. A year ago, he thought I was depressed and got mad saying something along the lines of "What kind of witness is that? Christians shouldn't be depressed." Way to build me up, there.

But, my mom will know by the time Tuesday comes to an end. I'll show her the faded scars. I'll explain that that scratch on my right wrist wasn't an accident, but, instead, something I did on purpose. I'll lay it all out. I'll pull up my sleeves and tell her of how I haven't been the same this past year. I'll tell her why I was so down on my birthday- a day one should be happy and joyous. Nothing will be hidden as my layered mask begins to crack down the middle and the first ray of light comes through, with me pleading to be left alone.

Then my youth pastor will ask me if I said anything yet. "Yes." Hesitant. But I'll say it. And for once in my life, I'll speak the truth. Not tip toeing around what I know life to be and sugar coating it all for everyong looking in, pretending it's all just like a merry fairy tale.

When he first asked me about it, I told him I tried saying something once already, but backed down. "Why?" My mom said something. Something like "I trust you. I don't need to worry about you." So, how could I tell her then? I told him that. Said she trusts me and I couldn't tell her. He said maybe, in the end, they'll trust me more, having told them and all. For a second, hope. Then, reality. Would they really? Honestly, how could they trust me when I've kept something secret for so long, when I've neglected to tell them what was really going on when they repeatedly asked me what's wrong? Maybe they will. If I were them, though, I'd have a heck of a time trusting someone then.

So, here it is. My last few days carrying this cross by myself, willingly. And who knows, maybe it's also my last few days not being hyped up on meds.

kadi