Before you get any ideas, this is not another conceited, over-exaggerated diary log of your average angsty teen that pretty much plaster the internet these days. It's an honest documentation of what happened to me on September 25, 2005.

Recently, my mother and her fiancé, Mark, bought a house. It needs a lot of work done to it, so we go down to that house every day and help fix it up (painting, laying carpet, etc.). Today I walked into my house (the one I live in at the moment, not the one we're renovating), having just gotten back from an overnight party, at which I only had half an hour of sleep, and my back was killing me. As soon as I got home, my brother told me to get down to the house, as they needed my help. I contemplated this for a minute, and thought; "Okay, if they need me..". So I jammed a pair of shoes on and went on down to the house.

After two hours of work, I had painted three doors, swept two rooms, and some miscellaneous lifting & moving. I decided this was sufficient enough work, and as there was nothing else for me to do at that moment, and I was tired and sore, I caught a ride home with my mother (who had to go home and get dressed for work). Soon after I got home, the house phone rang. I answered it, and it was Mark. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked. "Sitting here", I replied. "Why the fuck aren't you here helping us?", he yelled. "Mark, I'm tired as shit, I just want to rest." I replied. "You're a waste of fucking space, did you know that?" he snapped. "Fuck you!" I yelled into the receiver as I hung up. Suddenly it felt like there was lead in my stomach. I knew I was going to get it the next time I saw him. Mark can be okay sometimes, but he's a very violent person, and he has hit me before.

As I stood there in the lounge, my lower-lip started to tremble, and a tear rolled down my face. My mother came in and asked me what was wrong, and I told her what happened. She suddenly got very angry, and told me that Mark only wanted my help (which I have been giving him for about six hours every day for the last week, without him showing any gratitude for me). I walked right out the door, and down to the house.

Surprise, surprise, there was nothing at all for me to do. I somehow ended up in the same room as Mark. He closed the door and held me against the wall. He looked at me in the eye and growled "If you ever speak to me like that again, I'll fucking kill you." (don't even bother pointing out the irony in that sentence). He let me go, and left the room.

Today I realised that I'm living with a man who's soon to be my step-father, and who's threatened to kill me six times.