For us, it was just different. They didn't understand, but it was.

Family was something that we happened to be born into; most of us spent the vast majority our time trying to forget, run away from, or shed whatever baggage our particular families came with. Alcoholics and druggies, abuse of all flavors, insanity, divorce, fighting, abuse of all flavors, foster care, etc.: far too commonplace in our small group.

Friends were an entirely separate universe. These were the people we chose to become a family with, and we were happier and tighter-knit than most of the families I knew- even the supposedly "normal' ones. It all came out of the choice, I think.The choice to surround oneself with other people that had fallen to similar lots as one and managed to have similar beliefs and tastes in politics, music, style, religion or lack thereof, books, food, nonsensical slang.

In our case, we all came with enough baggage to fill several wardrobes, outlandish ideas about nearly everything, and a big empty space that we were trying to fill up with something.

In a way, it was like a support group: things unsaid were left unsaid and things said were mulled over, comforted, and accepted. We held off judging. We didn't pry into things that weren't our business. We were always there, no matter what. For anything.

Separation almost killed me. It was worse than anything they could have taken from me. Worse than no stereo or internet or phone. That was nothing. Not being able to see or talk to the people that made life worth living, that made me happier than I had ever been in my short, pathetic life? That was the true definition of cruel of unusual punishment, the new eighth circle of hell.

Family had a different set of values, different standards. A month of almost total isolation from non-family members taught me how true the subjectivity of morals was. Family had different ideas of commitment and quality-time. My body language, non sequiturs and sarcasm, time spent in a dozing silence or daydreaming were all interpreted as hostile, "bad attitude"; they were open, amiable, even funny in my other environment. Little things I had done to please others were considered kissing up to get what i wanted or irritating. I knew I didn't have it a tenth as bad as most kids would have. That didn't stop me from being in a constant state of near tears and raw nerves toward the end of my sentence, as much as I hid it from everyone around me.

The differences go on. Loyalty is different; it can't really be balanced, compared. fights that might become a lifelong grudge in family- at least, in my family- were little spats that dissipated into meaningless nothings the moment friends stopped yelling or throwing bits of food or pillows or trash. Truths that were danced around when cautiously discussed in the family were tossed out casually and assimilated amongst the friends. Love- ah, that word- was obligated in the family, although it could be genuine in a few cases; resented perhaps, given begrudgingly perhaps, but love was always there. With the friends, it just was, often expressed, given by choice after being earned somehow, cherished. language, appropriateness, maturity- nothing like that, nothing society cared about so superficially ever seemed to mean much with the friends. display of emotion, fun, new ideas, adventure- whether the small-town kind or something real- these were what mattered.

The family was a place to prepare for society, for the real world, where people judged you and hated you and wanted you and wanted to be you. Friends were just perceived differently, at least in my case. They were a sheltered, safe harbor away from the real world, where people tried not to judge and accepted you and wanted you to be happy. There was love. It wasn't unconditional, but it was a comfort zone. We were always there, and that was what was just so unequivocally different.