Here’s how I coupe with negative feelings. First I walk into the tiny bathroom of my RV and look at myself in the mirror. I take a deep breath, holding it but a moment before letting it out with a quick sigh and then I lie to myself, “It’s going to be okay, Zachypooh.” We both know it’s a lie… Then I close my eyes and visualize myself opening up a door in the center of my mind and cautiously begin walking down a cobweb encrusted staircase into a deep, dark unfurnished basement, it hasn’t seen sunlight in years. The smell of cold dirt on concrete wafts beneath an overture of mildew and something else, something metallic that stings my eyes and burns my lungs. My mouth fills with the taste of copper pennies, oxidized and old.
My eyes slowly adjust to cold empty darkness as I reach the bottom step and stare ahead where at the far end, there! I see him, a sinister circus clown with his back facing me. I can’t tell what he’s doing as the swinging lamp dangling from the ceiling sways back and forth, a sliver of silvery florescent light from a pendulum but clearly he’s hunched over, maniacally chuckling and muttering and tearing something apart.
I can’t discern if it’s a stuffed animal, or a couch cushion or or pillow but he’s ripping out tuffs of cotton from its innards and haphazardly tossing em over his shoulder with glee as he mutters and sputters gibberish in a ghoulish throaty growl intermittent with obscenities in Latin, in Spanish, in German. I reach for the Louisville slugger resting against the banister and I feel the dust upon it gets sticky from my sweaty palms. With desperate hesitation I began inching my way toward this clown, this sinister destructive fuckin evil clown, slower than time itself do I inch forward. My heart pumps so fast and loud within my chest I just know he’s going to hear it and turn around to face me with all of his monstrous devilry, but he just keeps doing his thing.
Gradually, his noises get drowned out by the rising crescendo of circus music; Entry of the Gladiator, doot-doot-dooty doo-duh-doot -doot-doo-dah that spews forth from a turn of the century phonograph from somewheres within the murk of my soul, my mind providing an accompaniment of the trumpeting of jewel-bedazzled elephants and the roars of man-eating caged lions. I grow more nauseous with every step forward, my mouth begins to water so bad I’m salivating and the room begins to twist and twirl. I know if I try to in-hail I’ll gag on my own vomit… five steps between us, four.. three… two… and I freeze solid as the monster slightly raises, poses his shoulders and tilts his head as he begins sniffing the air about him…
He knows I’m behind him, oh God! He can hear the beating of my chest, he hears the circus chorus, I’m not leaving this pit alive! But then his attention returns to what now I clearly recognize as my favorite childhood Raggedy Andy Doll and resumes ripping out its stuffing with cruelty and delight… this fucking monster! One step left so I close the distance, raising my baseball bat over my shoulder. My nostrils detect the slightest whiff of its composition; high-quality, straight-grain Northern white ash, hard maple, and birch wood and my courage returns. I’m fully recoiled, looming behind this creature watching in horror as he mutilates Raggedy Andy and over the circus music I gradually hear the crowd begin to cheer and chant my name… suddenly the ringleader’s voice cuts in and yell’s, “Apples, peaches, pumpkin pie / Hit that ball and make it fly!”
And I swing! Dead solid square perfect right upside this fuckin clown’s dome! He never saw it coming and I swing again! And again and again and again, his fat painted bloated corpse crumpled on the basement floor still clutching Raggedy Andy, refusing to let it go so I continue to beat the shit out of this fucking clown until my arms are burning, until I’m heaving in and out with every breath… until I can swing no more. Finally exhausted, I drop the bat and fall upon my knees and reach down to collect my favorite childhood doll and I gather what I can of his cotton guts, strewn across the floor. Then I stand up, I give this creep-fueled fuckin circus clown a swift boot to the head as the crowd roars at my triumph and then all of the noise fades away as my heart steadies back to its natural rhythm.
I hack up a loogie and spit on the monster before turning back to the staircase. As I make for the first step I return the trusty slugger to were it rested and I begin the climb. As I leave the basement and slowly close the door behind me I hear the voice of the dead clown say, “See you next time, Zachypooh.” Yeah, you can bet your sweet patootie on it you rotten bastard.
Nah, that’s not how I actually cope with negative feelings but I must admit, I’m feeling a lot better about things. What I actually do to cope now that I’m clean and sober is I write, often.What do you do?
