in group we tell each other you can’t recover if you don’t know what you’re recovering from.
I don’t know exactly what I am recovering from. hurt, maybe?
hurt is almost always telling me a truth. all this week I was thinking about the times I stood on the toilet seat holding the stall door open in my catholic high school building to see the things written on the walls there that may or may not have broken my heart, that may or may not still be there.
maybe rage, maybe. you know the feeling of tearing a page from a book you don’t like? the rage, the urgency. the ease: rrrrip, tear and it’s torn. maybe it’s that feeling.
hate is a strong word but it has its space in the dictionary and there’s a need to have that word in my existence. we can hate events and choices without hating people. such a small word with so much pulse.
am I trying to recover from love? that sounds terrible. not the beginning and during part. I have loved some people so hard. there’s so much love in this world that I want to live in it like two or three times. no, I mean the ending and loss part. maybe this is what I’m recovering from, maybe it’s the ghost of human contact that haunts me.
or maybe it’s all and not any one of these things. when I really think about it, though, there is one thing I want to feel more than anything, and that’s forgiveness. but I’m afraid: afraid I won’t be forgiven and at the same time afraid to forgive myself.
my heart tells me God is this cool DJ at this giant forgiveness disco. God will always take my bad choices and mistakes and wipe everything clean, always place a new record on the turntable. I love this belief. and I try to practice self-forgiveness.
but easy forgiveness scares me. what if I start believing that lapsing over and over is okay, that there’s always a next time, and besides, all is forgiven. what if one day it’s too late, there’s one too many lapses, and there is no next time and I never make it back.
last night I missed the N train by seconds. it rode off, leaving me panting on the platform. I not only watched it go, I let it go. and that felt okay. I still love that train. it’s waiting there for me most nights, ready to take me home. there’s always the hope I will catch it tomorrow.
cookie nieves 
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