There was no precise moment where I can look back and say, "At this point, I knew where I was going with my life." But the change did start happening right after turning 17.

I noticed what a mess my family was, how none of us had the ability to listen to one another. My father was a hypocrite and this rubbed off onto his sons. I would waste my time after finishing school, coming up with reasons why I wouldn't be home at the time any other child my age would be at home.

I suppose one can only take so much until they reach a boiling point, their mind overloads and the only way to deal with this build up is to climb up somewhere extremely high and scream your lungs out, or run away. I did both.

Before finishing the last two years of high school I decided to leave.

I spent two weeks planning what to do. I saved money, I packed, I gathered all the supplies I thought I would need and then figured out where to go. Where the hell would I go? I had no idea.

The night before I left, I packed all my things and put them in a black rubbish back and left it on the street in front of my house. I would then pick it up the following morning, on my way to school, and that way I could get out the house unnoticed.

I spent almost six days traveling on foot and by bus. I had made my way to the destination I had planned out, I had called around a few weeks earlier to several different companies in towns thatI wanted to get to and was able to find a job.

So here I was, a few weeks on away from home, working at the bottom of a company with the worst possible pay and sleeping in offices.

I didn't contact or hear anything from my family until eight months later. I had moved again twice since my first job. I worked in a restaurant and finally lived in a secure place, and decided to find out how my family was doing.

I traveled back home. I wasn't going to go inside the house, I would be forced to stay, all my work would have been for nothing. I simply watched my family through the windows and when they left the house.

They hadn't changed one bit, it seemed as though when I left, the space I took up was filled by anger and hate. No longer was I a member of this family.

Maybe if I went back they would greet me like a stray dog. Curious at first, but then hesitant once realizing how dirty it is. All would return to how things were before.

I left that place, I ran away again. Though running away isn't the right word since I no longer belonged to that family.

Since then I traveled a lot, never finding that home security that I never had in the first place. I never did go back home. Then again I never did feel the need to.