For most of my youth I lived with a step-father. I learned he was not my biological father when I was a teenager. Before that, I thought he was my father. He was a cruel, violent man who used his fists and belt to rule over me, my mother and my siblings. I was often depressed and spent many hours dreaming of being out of the house, and away from him. I wondered how long I would have to live in my dreams to be free and to be me. I could not speak my mind or show my love of poetry and music in his presence. It was a very sad chapter of my life. The sadness is shown in my eyes in the CD cover photograph, a self-portrait when I was sixteen. At one point, I ran away to California, but when the money ran out, so did my escape. Things were only worse after that. One Spring day of my senior year in high school, he threw me out of the house. I slept at my friends’ homes and washed dishes at night at a local restaurant until I graduated. I eventually found my dreams and happiness, but there are scars. There are times when you feel trapped and living in dreams is the only option.