The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [114]
While I wrote and revised my speech, the Freedom Writers gave me constructive criticism. While I rehearsed, my parents listened patiently. They gave me hope that I could make it. But deep inside I knew I wasn’t going to win. I was terrified when the list that announced the graduation speaker was posted. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it. Reading the list would mean finding out whether my dream had come true, or whether it would just be another triumph for those who had no faith in me. I closed my eyes, folded my hands, squeezed them tight, took a deep breath, turned, counted to three, and opened my eyes. I wanted to scream and cry at the same time, but all I could think about was running to the Freedom Writers, and calling my parents because I had won the contest to be Graduation Class Speaker.
It won’t be until June 11, 1998, when I can proudly say, “Now my dream of being the first person in my family to graduate is coming true!” I have learned that it doesn’t matter if your inspiration in life comes from negative or positive events. The most important thing is to learn and go on. Twenty or thirty years from now, when we have accomplished world peace, when we have succeeded in ending racism and intolerance, the world will remember that the Freedom Writers kept their promise.
Diary 140
Dear Diary,
I can’t sleep. Funny though, it’s for different reasons than it used to be when I was just a kid strung out on speed. Sleeping under cars. Skin and bones. Well, a lot has happened since then. I’ll take you back to freshman year.
“You butt heads with me and you’re going to lose.”
“Well, we’ll just see about that.”
Those were the last words spoken between my mom and me before I took off. I was obsessed with independence, but I was yet to realize I was trying to reap the benefits of being in charge of my life without taking any of the responsibilities that came along with that. But can you tell that to a fifteen-year-old boy trying to find his niche in the world? Not me, anyway. So I had enough. “Learning the hard way” is a nice way to describe the next few years after I walked out that door.
I don’t need to go into all of my war stories of the streets. There are too many of those. But here’s one moment at the end of ninth grade. It was the last week before summer and I was making the transition from weeks away from home to a month. And not a day could pass without the help of that white powder. I didn’t even need it to get high anymore. Now it was just vital to function. My body needed it the same way it needed air. Well, just when I thought I couldn’t take another night out there, someone else decided it for me. I wanted to take some sugar cubes laced with LSD and I flipped out. The police ended up taking me into custody for assault under the influence. In one heartbeat things would never be the same.
“I’m going to take your ass, white boy.”
The first words spoken to me in jail. Words I will never forget. This was a whole new world, and I didn’t have a clue how I got there. By the grace of God, the courts sentenced me to spend the next year in rehab. As much as I hated the system at that time, looking back I realized that they saved me from myself, and saved my life. I was no longer capable of functioning in the outside world. So I went to spend the next year in an adolescent rehab facility.
Rehab was a long, hard road. It was full of laughter, crying, and everything in between. But in those long twelve months I found out some things. I found out who I was. The real me. I didn’t need to use drugs to be a happy person. I was worthwhile and special. I realized my family loved me very much and this world could be such a great place to live if you just realized the structure for coexisting with the other five billion inhabitants. I took summer school for two years and actually got a semester ahead. Finally it was time for the real test. To rejoin society as a new and improved person. I left in mid-1996 on outpatient status. Not an easy feat.