The straw that broke the camel's back

Yes, another parent rant.

I've been putting up with a lot of shit from my parents. I have been for years. Whenever they feel it is to my academic benefit, they simply confiscate things. In primary school, it was perhaps reasonable - as a kid, you obviously don't know much about restraint, and usually the most important thing on your mind is how to have fun. It was stupid, but was just something you learned to put up with. They kept up with this until now, punishing poor grades by taking away things I like to have fun with, and then holding onto them and letting me play only at select times of the year (namely holidays).
Now, as I continue to perform under their expectations, it has gotten worse. And I have continued to put up with more and more shit from them - sneaking into my room and taking my books, constantly violating a place I believe my own personal sanctuary. They come in, demand I clean it up because they think it's a mess, and an eyesore.
It may be a mess, dammit, but it's an organised mess. I know (or at least have a rough idea) of where all my stuff is, I have an appropriately cleared workspace on my desk, perfect for noting, reading, watching stuff on my PSP, putting my laptop in, and so forth.

It's only now that I've settled down enough that I can actually think about what happened and write about it.
My mum comes into my room, finds a mass of model sprues and such on my desk, and automatically assumes the worst - I've been assembling models instead of working for the past several hours and probably was going to do so for the next several hours. So up comes my dad, and starts to trash the room! He grabs models that I had been spent weeks, if not months, workign on, and simply lobs them into the box he kept! He reaches under my bed, and starts throwing their empty boxes at the door! All this time I'm standing here, powerless to do anything but watch as the angry powers-that-be destroy months of work that I had been pouring my soul into! And to think one of the first victims was something I'd just finished the night before! Even thikning about it now makes my blood boil ...
What gives them the right to charge into my room and take things that I have paid for, spent countless hours working on, simply because it's their house? What makes them think that I will just take all this lying down?

This establishes one thing - my parents hvae me by the balls (they've psychologically conditioned me against rebelling openly against them), and that I must move out as soon as I can. Although that probably won't be until the end of the year or until next year, but ... I will be out of this house within two years. I will become my own man, master of my own destiny!
If I choose to do pharmacy (not likely at this point in time), then I will find a job at a different pharmacy, not affiliated with my parents' one. If I don't, well that's that.
If I choose to be a biotechnologist, then I will be one!
If I choose to be a writer, then I will be one!
How much money you make in a job does not matter! It's whether you enjoy your work or not!