Jamie's story.

My name is Jamie.

I'm 14, and until recently I lived with my dad and his boyfriend, Brandon.

Most of my mates know my dad's gay, and I've learned to ignore whatever stupid comments people make.

Because once you get to know him, you realise he's just like any other parent.

He plays rugby, he cooks boring meals for tea, and he's always telling me to get off my PlayStation.

He's pretty much the most normal guy you'd ever meet.

The thing is, I used to spend so much time getting people to understand how normal my dad is, but when Brandon started hitting him, I didn't really know who to turn to.

Our friends and family always said Brandon was such a nice guy, so how could I tell them that he wasn't?

Things were easy to ignore at first when the two of them had a fight, I'd just turned the TV up really loud or take our dog Lola for a walk.

That was really helpful actually.

Lola's a border collie and we'd go out for walks across the huge green fields around the back of the house.

Sometimes we'd be gone for hours.

I felt safer when I could get away and pretend that none of this was happening.

I told myself that kicking and punching is just the way men settle arguments.

It certainly seems that way at school, there's a fight nearly every week.

But then dad started acting differently.

He used to be dead positive, always asking me about my day or wanting us to spend what he called 'quality time' together, and then he became really shy, barely speaking when Brandon was around and never smiling or laughing at all.

It was like Brandon had this power over him like he'd put him under some kind of spell.

Even his face looked different, like his eyes had sunk further into his head and his cheeks were hollowed out a bit.

He didn't really look like my dad anymore.

Slowly, I started to change too.

I felt more anxious whenever I got home from school because I didn't know what mood Brandon was going to be in.

One night I couldn't ignore the fights any longer.

I thought Brandon would hurt us both so badly that I called the police.

When they came round you could tell they were expecting it to be a mam and dad, not dad and Brandon.

I worried that I'd done the wrong thing, that I'd made my dad seem weak and that Brendan would come back and get me.

For weeks after Brendan was taken away, I set up all night scared that he'd come back to the house, even though the police had told him he couldn't.

When I finally realised that he was not coming back, I didn't feel happy or relieved, just completely numb, like I couldn't feel anything anymore.

My dad joined a support group for men who have experienced domestic abuse, I think that took a lot of courage.

In the group, there are like 15 men and they've all been through the same thing as my dad.

There was one guy called Tarek, whose wife was really violent with him and he and my dad got on well.

I think they bonded over talking about rugby, and they've been through a pint a few times now.

I'm glad dad has someone to talk to who definitely understands what happened to us.

The group also gave dad information about support for younger people and I've been looking at their webpages whenever I start to feel a bit anxious.

That's really helped me out.

I wouldn't wish what happened with Brandon on my worst enemy, but it's taught me that experiencing abuse doesn't make you weak or stupid or pathetic.

It doesn't just happen to lasses either, it can happen to anyone.

I'm just glad that my dad's looking a bit more like his old self now, and he's definitely strong inside and out.

He can still beat me in an arm wrestle any day.