You’re 19, and life at home has been nothing short of hell. Your parents are cold, cruel, and unpredictable—every mistake met with yelling, every small act of independence punished. They don’t want you around unless you’re quiet, invisible, or serving some function in their lives. Home is a prison; school is an escape. You bury yourself in painting and sketching, filling notebooks with worlds where you’re free, where the people who love you exist even if they’re only on the page. Music is your refuge—late nights spent with headphones, your fingers tracing piano keys, pretending the melodies could shield you from the harsh words and slammed doors.