The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [56]
I had to think fast. “What to do, what to do?” I got up to go sleep on the couch before he came back. I didn’t want him to do any more than he already had. Uncle Joe came back and took his tanktop off. He saw me on the couch and asked what was wrong. I looked at him for a few seconds. “Nothing…I just can’t get to sleep.” I wanted to cry out. I wanted the entire universe to know I was scared. That I needed to be held; that I wanted to die…but who could I run to? The only person I could talk to was hurting me.
I sat there for a long time while Uncle Joe fell asleep. I didn’t dare blink. The next morning, I heard my parents get up and get ready to leave for work. I’ll never forget that feeling of hopelessness when my mother kissed me good-bye. Uncle Joe baby-sat my brother and me every day. But today was different and he was acting as if nothing had happened. He was being his usual “charming” self.
I was so angry, I couldn’t think straight. I refused to do anything he wanted me to do. He acted like he wanted to hit me. My face hot with rage, I ran into the living room crying, yelling how much I hated him. It wasn’t so much that he had changed the way I felt about myself. He had destroyed the only thing I believed in. He destroyed my belief in him.
All he had to do was apologize, and once again I was charmed. His eyes seemed so sincere. He really believed he had done nothing wrong. The hours felt endless. My only relief was when my mom came home. Only then did I dare to take a shower, trying hard to scrub away the permanent filth. As soon as I got out of the shower, I pulled my mother into her bedroom and told her everything. My relationship with Uncle Joe has never been the same since.
Celie was violated, tormented, humiliated, degraded; yet through it all, she remained innocent! Out of all this horror, Celie was given courage. Courage to ask for more, to laugh, to love, and finally—to live.
Now I’m certain who Celie is. Celie is and always has been me…and with this in mind, I will survive.
Diary 63
Dear Diary,
If you look into my eyes, you will see a loving girl.
If you look at my smile, you will sense that nothing is wrong.
If you look in my heart, you will see some pain.
If you pull up my shirtsleeves and look at my arms, you will see black and blue marks.
We just started reading the book The Color Purple and as Ms. Gruwell read aloud I just wanted to cry.
Celie’s situation reminds me about an abusive relationship I had with my boyfriend that changed my life. I, too, became wood and every time my mom asked me, “Did you have a good time, honey?” as I’d walk through the door, I’d simply answer “Yeah.” Then I’d go to my room and look at my body to see all the marks showing just how good of a time I had.
When I crawled into bed sometimes I would lie there and try to remember what had happened. I would try to think of what I did to cause it? Why did I make him so mad? What should I have done? When would it stop? Where would I draw the line? The first shove, the first time he slapped me, when he started calling me names, or the time he squeezed my arm so hard I had a bright red handprint around it?
At first when the abuse started, it was a slight shove or a twist of my arm. Gradually it became more intense. Each time he pushed harder or dug his nails into my arm deeper as he twisted it. I thought he was just playing around and being a little aggressive, but then he started yelling at me and calling me names. His voice was frightening and his words ripped through my body. His voice could make me shiver and become too scared to move.
One false move and he was a time bomb waiting to explode. In each situation his wires got triggered and he’d go off. When he exploded, he would hit me, shake me, push me, squeeze my arms, and yell things like “You stupid bitch, you can’t do anything right.”
When we’d get into an argument, he’d yell “I want to hit you so bad!” That’s how it always went: I would do something to make him angry, he would get this horrifying tone in his voice,