The Emerald House


The best things in life cannot be seen, or even touched.  They must be felt with the heart.                                    -Helen Keller


          If I close my eyes, even for a moment, I can see the house, and feel myself inside of it.  Everything at the Emerald House is warm, consistent and beautiful.  It's all right to be sad there, or angry; if you are crying, somebody will hold you, even if you're not a child, until you feel better.  Nobody has to be perfect at the house, though it is itself a vibrant painting of perfection.  Sometimes I think I have the best home in the world.  I am safe there, people love me, nobody disapproves of me or reprimands my every action.  I can say what I am feeling without people telling me they don't care, or worse, don't believe me.  My "home" is entirely a creation in my imagination.

          I don't remember exactly when I built the Emerald House, but it's been around for a very long time.  As a young child, I remember looking forward to bedtime, when alone in the darkness, I could slip away into my own realm, and surround myself in a land of happiness unlike anything I knew in the real world.

          The house is as symbolically beautiful as it is physically.  The exquisite visage of the houses's emerald studded windows and pristine demeanor are merely trinkets when compared to the completeness - the safeness, and the closeness of the inside.

          Eventually I could get to the house even in the broad of day, no matter what I was doing.  Somehow, someone would assure me nobody who saw me or tried to talk to me would notice I had slipped away, and I did so, willingly.  Then, the house started to pop up most frequently, every time I was sad, angry, or afraid.  The invasion of the house terrified me, because I couldn't control it, couldn't push it away from me.  The people in the house became so loud, and I couldn't silence them.  I tried to stay in the real world, but it was as if all my strength had been sucked into an invisible vacum, leaving me defenceless, even against myself.

          I worked so hard to rid my mind of any emotion which might provoke me to succumb to the pull of my imaginary world, embarrassed that I should have to rely on things physically non-existent in the first place.  I gave myself a blank, apathetic expression.  I didn't feel pain, I never cried, and I wasn't afraid of anything.  I didn't ever get angry or upset, and I didn't even feel happiness.

          I wouldn't tell anyone anyone any of this, for they would fain think me crazy, and it's doubtful they would understand.  When you hear voices and can slip away to a world of delicate fantasy anytime you wish, usually people don't understand you, and because of this, don't care.  That's why you become guarded, so that nobody can touch you to hurt you.

          Sometimes I wish things could be as they are at the Emerald House in the real world; I could be loved without feeling weak or afraid, I could be happy, and feel safe, without having to close my eyes, even for a moment...


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