I mean I thought I was the only person on the planet who could end up with two electricity suppliers simultaneously. Which is technically impossible. But no, I’m also the only person on the planet who is not only being perceived as some dangerous, child grooming Drug Boss- but actually being charged for it! Why am I surprised. Why am I fucking surprised? Of COURSE its me who’d be the victim of a gang of knife wielding drug dealers, yet end up being the only one PROSECUTED FOR

I’d quite like to find out whether I’m going to be labelled a criminal, or whether I was a victim. Right now I am a traumatised mess. I’m a useless nervous wreck that just cries all day, for what apparent reason; I don’t know. But I feel guilty about this because in my opinion, criminals are not very good people. Every type of crime inflicts some kind of pain or suffering on SOMEONE and negatively impacts their lives in some way. So I don’t believe criminals have the right to

I don’t feel safe. I’m on edge all the time. I’m getting text message after text message from people I don’t know who are calling me a slag and threatening all sorts and I can’t stop crying. All day I cry and cry and cry. I don’t know over exactly what, it just feels like a waterfall of bottled up emotions are pouring out. I have flashbacks of situations that happened during the months of being trapped that I’m too disgusted, humiliated and embarrassed to write about. I’m so

Fuck My Life. Last night I was sat in my living room minding my own business when suddenly, an enormous rock comes smashing through my window. It made a collosal “BANG” and pieces of shattered glass flew everywhere. The rock landed no more than a few inches from my feet, and I heard someone yell “YOU’RE DEAD. I’M GONNA SLICE YOU UP PROPER. YOU’RE GONNA PAY. YOU’RE A GONNER YOU SLAG”. I knew without hesitation, this would be the icing on the cake for my landlord and he’d evict

I mean, I have to give it to the police. They have annihilated every drug dealer in the surrounding area! I became very acquainted with the crime section of the local newspaper in the months after my home was taken over. I’d read all the articles that were to do with drugs, in the desperate hope I’d see something which would reassure me the police were getting closer. A familiar street name, an arrest, a raid in the area, anything that would give me hope I’d be rescued. It so