{"id":20,"date":"2015-03-09T01:43:07","date_gmt":"2015-03-09T01:43:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/?p=20"},"modified":"2015-03-22T18:35:08","modified_gmt":"2015-03-22T18:35:08","slug":"numbville-part-i-of-ii","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/?p=20","title":{"rendered":"Numbville Part I of II"},"content":{"rendered":"

Reclaiming my life was not a mess to be disentangled, but an unknown journey to be lived.<\/em><\/p>\n

For years I have secretly dreamed of becoming a creative writer, playwright or even poet.\u00a0 \u00a0An educationalist who enjoys using stories to motivate and illuminate the movements of others.<\/p>\n

In childhood, my shortcomings were presented to me as inexcusable actions.\u00a0 Never once did my elders explain my misadventures could be used as guides.\u00a0 If I was disrespectful, they would use verbal threats, house arrest and my ultimate favorite, washing out my mouth with soap.\u00a0 These scare tactics were implemented during the era of children are to be seen and not heard, <\/em>which was a difficult motto for me to adhere to.\u00a0 As I matured, I realized this instruction was poor advice. \u00a0I discovered my missteps were my story poles – a way to construct my dreams.<\/p>\n

Early in my elementary years, my sister and I would frequently play school in our basement.\u00a0 She was always considerate each time I demanded to be the teacher.\u00a0 It was during these times of role playing that I surprised myself and began practicing my own make-believe instructions for life and learning.\u00a0 There was an inner representative tucked inside telling me these wrong turns and errors made would not impact my ability for success, but serve as guideposts to the aspirations I had yet to uncover.<\/p>\n

There was certainly no talk of dreams or desires in my family.\u00a0 That would have been on the verge of a fantasyland where unicorns and pixie dust coexist! \u00a0Nevertheless, my sister and I would carry on with our imaginary games.\u00a0 But reality always slipped in and stole our fantasies making our mistakes front and center again.\u00a0 My inside representative reminded me that my voice and feelings mattered; it was up to me to create a space for both.<\/p>\n

During my teens, I experienced my inner representative repeatedly offering advice.\u00a0 Oftentimes, it would challenge my own and others\u2019 reasoning.\u00a0 This instinctive feeling reminded me to confront myself.\u00a0 It wanted me to question the obvious and the norms presented to me. \u00a0Was this inner representative a spirit telling me right from wrong?\u00a0 People questioned my stability and felt my strange ways needed additional correction.\u00a0 There was never any proof this inner representative existed, but it was such a strong feeling that it still resonates with me today.<\/p>\n

At the time, it seemed logical to name this sensation.\u00a0 She felt like my inner goddess, a guiding light or, better yet, a woman warrior.\u00a0 I named her Rosie.\u00a0 She seemed to be the only person who really understood my idiosyncrasies.\u00a0 As the years passed, this inner representative, which could possibly be called my intuition, had plenty of things to tell me.\u00a0 It took an absurd amount of time for me to listen.<\/p>\n

My internal, gutsy spirit Rosie reminded me how I had gone astray and directed me to change course many times in my life.<\/p>\n

Living is drama, get used to it.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

The realization that most things are not what they seem isn\u2019t something you want to learn at the age of eleven.\u00a0 Although you knew the life and death cycle occurred around you naturally, you were abruptly awakened to this force when your thirty year old, adored father had to die.\u00a0 This is when your initiation into life began.\u00a0 Life moved you rather quickly from the fur-lined nest of what you believed to be \u201cnormal\u201d to the jolting jungle of your new environment.<\/em><\/p>\n

She was animated and had a way with words.\u00a0 This vibrant dame understood that my life experiences brought with them complex and confusing roles, and she had a deliberate process of guiding me through these times.<\/p>\n

Rosie became a trusted friend and confidante.<\/p>\n

Stop allowing fractured, missing pieces of bliss dim your light.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

You need to fix your fragmented mess.\u00a0 You allowed yourself to be compromised.\u00a0 Find answers.\u00a0 Go and locate a place within yourself where you can find refuge.<\/em><\/p>\n

Huh?<\/p>\n

Did she want me to address my pain?<\/p>\n

Solve past problems?<\/p>\n

How does that work?<\/p>\n

When does one start?<\/p>\n

Where does one locate this place of protection within?<\/p>\n

It was an overwhelming task, and I was not ready to exert the effort and \u201cfeel\u201d all my painful feelings in order to find inner contentment.\u00a0 There was too much awareness necessary to complete this task.\u00a0 It was far easier to submerge my past negative experiences and frustrations.<\/p>\n

We officially lost communication.<\/p>\n

It was in this moment of feeling alone that I began plotting my path to avoidance.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 My sanctuary was in clear sight. I began my escape from childhood pain and situated myself within my own inner, fictional town of refuge.<\/p>\n

Welcome to Numbville – a place where people wind up when they give up.<\/p>\n

Countless visitors yearly.<\/p>\n

Hometown to many.<\/p>\n

Population unknown.<\/p>\n

Feel free to come and go as you please.<\/p>\n

I entered Numbville in hopes of finding solace from my imbalanced feelings.<\/p>\n

Each person I encountered seemed to lack the zest for life.\u00a0 Many appeared bitter.\u00a0 Others looked sad.\u00a0 Many were emotionally misplaced, like me.<\/p>\n

All occupants looked numb. \u00a0Most looked victimized.<\/p>\n

Here in front of me were numerous folks who had been abused, used and undervalued.\u00a0 Several were abandoned, ignored and bullied.<\/p>\n

Countless citizens had a combination of all the above.<\/p>\n

I felt disoriented.\u00a0 Why had I ignored my inner woman warrior?\u00a0 Do I even belong here?<\/p>\n

\u201cMisery loves company,\u201d the town mayor expressed upon my arrival.\u00a0 He seemed like a charismatic fellow – a divorced dad of three girls.\u00a0 He went on to say, \u201cMany of our long term tenants wanted to feel free and ignore the unhappiness which brought them to this secluded safe haven.\u201d\u00a0 He shared with me that his wife and girls do not live here, nor do they visit.\u00a0 Periodically, he will visit them.\u00a0 However, feeling vulnerable outside this walled city he calls home is not for him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe stuff our former disappointments and drama into a deep, dysfunctional cistern when we arrive, and there they stay,\u201d shared the local diner waitress who had been psychologically and physically maltreated by all the men in her life.\u00a0 \u201cIt is a ceremonious celebration every time we get a new resident. In fact, the local gambler constantly takes bets around town, if this newbie will be a lifer or not.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was speechless.\u00a0 The town was devised to keep you dazed and delirious.<\/p>\n

How can they help me? Or, better yet, how can I help myself?<\/p>\n

These questions must have agitated Rosie, I could feel her sweltering sense wanting to scream at me.\u00a0 She finally snapped:<\/p>\n

These people are just going through the motions of life!<\/em><\/p>\n

There is no meaning or understanding in their lives.\u00a0 What these individuals are missing is the deeper experience of it.\u00a0 They fell victim to their tank of troubles.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

I was deeply confused and conflicted.\u00a0 I longed for answers.<\/p>\n

Town gossip and recovering alcoholic Ms. Gizzie was ready to lend a hand.\u00a0 She indicated that, \u201cNo one really leaves once they begin to take comfort in the ordinary.\u201d \u00a0It seemed logical, since Numbville was never designed to be lively, but to help people find comfort in the discomfort.<\/p>\n

Gizzie introduced me to the Sheriff, a diagnosed narcissist who continues to struggle with his passive aggression.\u00a0 He pointed out with a devious grin, \u201cIt\u2019s the can-do, crazy ones who try to retrieve their tragedies from the cistern and leave. \u00a0\u00a0It can be challenging.\u00a0 We attempt to distract them, but the strong-willed ones bolt – never establishing permanent residency.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sensed Rosie was impatient with me. She found me chatting with Gizzie, who was providing a sort of nirvana from the turbulent times my outside world was doling out.<\/p>\n

Rosie suddenly pronounced:<\/p>\n

Being neglected emotionally and physically was not fun for you.\u00a0 It led you to being expressively empty and unavailable for most of your young adulthood.\u00a0 You were internally disordered and disenchanted with your life. This is why you drifted from me and found sanctuary in this fictional town you have generated.<\/em><\/p>\n

It was this brief reminder along with her powerful insight about my past that told me I did not belong here.\u00a0 It had been years since I took her advice, and it was time to experience life again.\u00a0 No more submerging my past negative experiences and frustrations!<\/p>\n

Yes, the highs and lows of my life felt overwhelming.\u00a0 The idea of finding a place to take shelter from the constant confusion seemed logical.\u00a0 The inside and outside noises around me dulled when I was in my place of refuge.\u00a0 No one bothered me here in Numbville.\u00a0 I would watch the world and all its players like a variety show.\u00a0 There was limited participation and it was half-hearted \u2013 like never being fully alive in my own body.\u00a0 I found comfort, safety, and security staying within the confines of this walled city.<\/p>\n

As I slowly regained consciousness, Rosie demanded:<\/p>\n

You need to revitalize me.\u00a0 Slowly, reshape your world back into reality.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

Quickly I realized these citizens and this community were not interested in personal growth or self-reflection.\u00a0 Introspection was blasphemy.\u00a0 Evolution was a crime.\u00a0 My short-lived visit made me realize I needed to flee.<\/p>\n

It was at this juncture Rosie consoled me:\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

You need to stop living in Numbville.\u00a0 Stop hiding.\u00a0 No more wallowing.\u00a0 You are not alone.\u00a0 There are others in the real world, like you, who have built their own imaginary towns.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

Was she serious?\u00a0 Are there others who have built similar towns within themselves?<\/p>\n

I need to find them.\u00a0 Maybe we can help each other out?<\/p>\n

First Published at Life As A Human:\u00a0http:\/\/lifeasahuman.com\/2015\/arts-culture\/creative-non-fiction\/numbville-part-i-of-ii\/<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a9 2015 Shannon Hogan Cohen<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Reclaiming my life was not a mess to be disentangled, but an unknown journey to be lived. For years I have secretly dreamed of becoming a creative writer, playwright or even poet.\u00a0 \u00a0An educationalist who enjoys using stories to motivate and illuminate the movements of others. In childhood, my shortcomings were presented to me as […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":34,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-empowerment","category-self"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=20"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":68,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20\/revisions\/68"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/34"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=20"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=20"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=20"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}