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The past few days have been hell on earth. Mr Boss Man has gone out of his way to make sure I can’t come good on my threat of calling the police.

To begin with, an innocent 14 year old runner was plonked in my home accompanied by a viscous 17 year old with a very nasty streak. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it became clear that their drugs and weapons were being stashed around the place which literally resulted in 2 full days of me being relentlessly sick with panic. I mean full on projectile vomiting up the walls style.

But the more I’ve kicked off, demand they leave and threaten them with the police. The more they keep coming back, this time with Mr Boss Man himself by their side or his sidekick- the one who just got shot. And they are ramping up the mental torture. By that, I mean a few hundred pounds worth of drugs has turned into a couple of thousand pounds worth. This time not stashed behind my back, but right in front of my face. The day before yesterday I had my head hanging down the toilet being violently sick when Mr Boss Man leans over to shove a ‘pack’ behind my toilet cistern. Later that day, the 17 year old demanded I wash a pair of his jogging bottoms which were covered in blood. He proudly bragged about how much damage he had done with his nasty looking kitchen knife to cause the stains, which in turn made my legs give out and I felt humiliated having to be helped up from the floor, big satisfied smirks on their faces knowing just how much they were getting to me.

But something changed that night which put them on edge because they’ve been making a conscious effort to steer clear of doing any actual drug dealing from mine since. Though they are still constantly in my face harrassing me and unexpectedly turning up which makes no sense until I stare horrified as they unearth a knife from under my sofa or retrieve a pack from behind the toilet.

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