My partner and I and my four children were living in a fair size house on one of the Northampton housing estates. Just a year earlier, I had appeared on national TV in an effort to help other gay dads, so my sexuality became all too apparent. Still, it was several months later that the problems started. Initially it was just graffiti written on walls and paving slabs proclaiming that there was a "Gay man at 35". Shortly after that, abuse was being hurled at us, and always by kids.

The ones most directly and personally affected by the homophobia directed at me were my two sons. True, all of us suffered—what with the broken windows, burnt doors and hate slogans around the estate—but the point is, no-one is safe that is associated with a gay person; all of them can become targets. Remember the neighbour who had his car fire-bombed because his son wanted to give evidence? These lowlifes don't care who they target, as long as it achieves their objective—which is to eradicate the abnormal as they perceive it.

Steve's Diary 12:20 am, December 30th 2002

This has been one of the worst years on record for me. This is tragic, as it is also one of the best years, yet all the goodness it held has been destroyed by that kid and his chums.

I have tried sleeping, but each time I close my eyes, my mind goes wild. Every night it is exactly the same thing; each night it has been 3am before I have slept. How long does it take to recover from months of terror? How many weeks or months—or even years—will it be before I can forget or remember without the pain?

I am in limbo, in a place I do not know. Nothing around me feels safe anymore. Everything is tarnished by the hate that has been aimed toward us. The damage goes far further than a few broken windows.

How does anyone have the right to make another feel as I do? For years, I have been happy to be gay; proud of it, almost. It was my difference, that thing that set me apart from others. I liked being a gay dad; it was a fascinating roller-coaster ride, an experiment in achievement.

Now, I feel like I am failing. I am not me anymore; I am this person being led by circumstance and uncertainty. What is an acceptable outcome to this? For how much longer can I be a victim?

This house was a home. It is now a prison. Everything about this house is right, except it isn't safe any more. The council tried to move us, the house was much too small. There was no back garden, no outside space to call our own. When must we move, how long can we stay where we are? For my sanity, it must be soon, very soon. The next month or so.

What must the police do now? To be honest, I do not care what they do. I have no confidence in them to achieve anything. Despite all that is said, the system is still weighted in favour of the offender; the victim is an insignificant consequence of crime. Those responsible for the damage that has been done to me will not suffer anything like what I am suffering. The police need to understand that criminal damage stretches far beyond damage to property, and that emotional damage takes an age to repair, cannot be insured for, and cannot be measured in statistics. It has to be believed. It must be prevented, stopped, before it becomes this bad.