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Forgiveness

You must forgive him.
Forgive him? F*** you. F*** that. Never.
I’ll never forgive him, not after what he did.
Not in a million years.
He destroyed far too much.

Years go by…

You need to forgive him.
No!
I told you already—I’m not going to forgive him.
Not now, not ever.
He doesn’t deserve to even be here.
He shouldn’t be breathing.
He’s not even human.
He’s unfit to exist.
He’s a monster who should be executed,
But first tortured, terrorized,
Tormented with vicious cruelties.
If the state won’t do it, I’ll volunteer.

Years go by…

You should really forgive him.
Are you still talking to me?
Go away.
No. I’m not going to do it.
End of discussion.
There’s nothing more to say. He’s guilty.
Period.

Years go by…

You may want to consider forgiving him.
We’ve been over this.
He doesn’t deserve it.
Who cares anymore anyway?
It’s too late.
I mean, does it even matter?

Years go by…

Would you be willing to be willing to forgive him?
Maybe… but how?
It’s been so long.
I don’t know.

Years go by…

Are you ready to forgive him?
Alright… fine.
I forgive him.

No.
I forgive myself.

For those of us imprisoned—not all, but many—
We’ve been beaten, raped, molested, abused, bullied,
Or worse, neglected.
And yet, for many of us,
The hardest thing we can ever do
Is to forgive ourselves
For what we’ve done to others.

📬

These stories arrive by mail.

Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.

Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.

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