So my blood kin family is messed up. In a way, I’ve often wondered “if only my family were addicted to something, I could blame the substance for the way they treat the people they’re related to, but no, this is just how they act. All the time. To people they’ve allegedly pledged affection and allegience to.”  So, fucked up family, but I have learned over the years that there are lots of us who come from fucked up families, like we have jackets and could actually form our own country of survivors of fucked up families.  Anyway, the way my blood kin deals with family members who buck the system is they metaphorically set them on fire and toss them overboard into the icy cold wilderness to let them sort themselves out alone.  I was the first that said “fuck this” and flip over their own board game of “just how much can I make you twitch.”  Yeah, I spent many years with the smell of my charred life lingering in my nostrils and making my eyes itch. But then, over the following years, there were other members of the family who were similarly burned and, because I would not go quietly into that dark smoky night, I became known as the “Burn Ward.”  I’m proud of that. One of my beloved members of our Burn Ward was charred crisp, fiercely, and nearly gave up any reason to live when they came out. I love them and feel so fiercely proud of them and the one sibling - their parent - who stood by them and held them close, even when the flames consumed them both.  Four years later, they both live their lives, speak honest words, and can share in love that they had been too broken to express.  I am so proud of them.  So fucking proud of them. And I want to shout into the darkness “You shall not overcome us!”