My Treehouse

Don’t step on me, crush me, get in my space.

I stay here on earth to tell you, or anyone.

Don’t think you can enter uninvited.  You can’t.  I won’t let you, allow you to or give you permission.

I won’t feel bad, guilty, mean or unkind.  I have what little confidence I need because I am learning to set perimeters around myself. I imagine they will keep me safe.  

Safe from what?  You couldn’t begin to understand.  It may seem like it’s not reality to you.  But it is.  It’s my reality, my haven, my treehouse, safe from invasion.

I have the signs posted.  No Trespassing!  No False Friends Allowed!  No Two-Faced Pretenders Here!  This is MY clubhouse! 

Is it exclusive?  Yes!  Hell yes, it is!   Are there rules?  Yes! Damn stringent rules.  Exceptions?  Rarely.  But, I can’t say never.  I wouldn’t begin to know.  

There are windows that I leave open from time to time.  I like the breeze that comes through.  The light it brings.

You don’t want to be in this exclusive, me-place.  You can’t be.  You can’t even walk in my shoes.  No one can.  I may appear to be safe and secure from harm and danger.  But, I’m not.  My dangers abide in my heart and soul.  They are just behind my open eyes. (when I dare open them)

You may see the rusty bolt on the door.  The rope ladder might be pulled up.  The heavy, wooden, trap door is latched.

You see the barriers. You can’t see the inside of me, inside my treehouse.  I may be able to hear the birds outside, the human voices and the branches brushing past the thin walls of my treehouse, but they do not keep me from my fears.  Sometimes they give me hope on a good day.  Enough optimism for me to walk to the open window and look beyond myself.