The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [59]
I went on to ask the class, “Do you know what he does? He gets all of his beer bottles and recycles them so that he can go and buy more beer.” Well, you can’t say he isn’t trying to help the environment. He sells our food so that he could get more drugs, leaving us hungry. After I laid my life out like an open book, I couldn’t help but break down and cry. Talking about my father made me realize how depressing my life really is. It never bothered me before tonight, because I guess I’m used to it and I’ve never expected it be any other way.
At that point, I was crying hysterically. I couldn’t help it, but then neither could anyone else. I noticed there were some males in the corner who had actually stepped out of the room because I guess they had a little “something in their eyes,” but I still kept talking.
“He is a selfish bastard,” I said, heaving and gasping for breath. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He claims that he cares for his precious son, but he doesn’t try to get a job and make sure his son has food in his stomach or clean clothes on his back. He doesn’t care that his precious son has to go to school with the same clothes he’s been wearing for the past week. He doesn’t care that we have to wash our clothes in the sink with the soap we use to bathe with. He doesn’t care that we had to sleep on the streets because he couldn’t pay rent for the hotels we were living out of. He doesn’t care about his son or any of his family—all he cares about is his drugs.
By that point, I was seething mad and not caring what I told people about my father. I was getting everything off my chest and it felt damn good. I continued to tell the class that my father had molested my sister and how angry I was that my mother didn’t do anything when she found out about it. In fact, she doubts that my sister is telling the truth. That’s shows how much power and influence my father has over my mother.
After years of keeping everything in, my heart felt like a grenade. It exploded, full force, and left me emotionally drained. I was relieved, but felt horrible just the same, because I told these strangers basically every detail of my life.
When I finished my story, I clumsily sat in my chair because I could barely stand straight. My friend sitting next to me took me into her arms and gave me a much needed hug. Ms. Gruwell’s college students were so comforting that they didn’t feel like strangers anymore.
I can’t believe what I did today. I told them everything! Well, not everything, but almost everything. It’s unbelievable how much I revealed. I knew she was going to pick on me I just knew it…but I’m happy that she did.
Diary 66
Dear Diary,
Tonight, while I was sitting in Ms. G’s class at National University listening to other students’ stories about their families, I couldn’t help but remember my own. Rather than listen, I began to look out the window, staring at the cars driving by when I thought about my brother Kevin’s death a year ago…
Kevin was placed in a Children’s Hospital to undergo a brain biopsy for a misdiagnosed tumor. The surgery lasted all night. I spent that night looking at the big Hollywood sign in the dark from the seventh floor of the hospital. I saw people driving around in their cars, going about their business, not aware that they just passed by a hospital that was filled with children who were ill or near death. All I could do is sit in the waiting room, waiting.
Kevin got out of surgery early the next morning. He was placed in the ICU and only two people were allowed to see him at a time. I didn’t know what to expect when my mother and I walked in. When I saw him, he was hooked up to various machines. Parts of his hair was shaved off and his head was bandaged. The sight was gruesome. He hadn’t woken up from the procedure yet. He looked like a mess and I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there and looked at him. I was afraid to touch him.
After Kevin recovered in the ICU, they discovered that he was paralyzed on the left side of his body. He was moved to