Clusterfuck.

I don’t like throwing up. I don’t like birds. I don’t like clusters. I don’t like crowds, and I REALLY, REALLY don’t like clowns. ever since I was a kid, I have had a few phobias: emetophobia (the fear of vomit and/or throwing up), ornithophobia (the fear of birds — which I’ve already dedicated a post to), trypophobia (the fear of holes and clusters), enochlophobia (fear of crowds) and coulrophobia (the fear of clowns). My fear of clowns stems from my childhood, when I was three years old and really sick with the whooping cough AND throwing up at night (which is probably why I’m afraid of throwing up), and my mom bought me a nightlight shaped like a clown. The clown sold cheerfully bright balloons for ten cents each, with his equally cheerfully bright sidekick dog for a companion.

My parents still have the lamp somewhere, in hopes that I will someday use it for my nonexistent children, but I am so traumatized by this lamp that I will not even go near it and would never, should I ever accidentally have them, expose my children to the horror of this nighttime debacle. Most people would probably take a look at this lamp and go, “Aww, how cute, look at the little clown and the dog. How can you be scared of this?” but it is very deceiving when it is not lit up. When it is all lit up, it looks like the gates of hell.

 A few years later, my mom took me to the local Belmont Parade that was held every summer. I remember that there were a pair of clowns on stilts, and as they walked around the parade, bringing merriment and joy to the parade revelers, I would chart their paths and quickly move to the opposite side of the street anytime I saw them heading my way. my mom tried to get me to pose for a picture, but I would have none of it. I sweated profusely in the blistering july heat, my hands clenching at my sides, as a wave of cold and clammy unease washed over my body.
 

I never screamed or cried, but once my mother took me and a friend to Kings Island, a theme park in Mason, Ohio, and we went to a Flintstones show in Hanna Barbera land. At one point during the song and dance routine, Fred Flintstone asked for volunteers from the audience to come up on stage and help sing the song. every other child in my vicinity jumped out of his or her seat, ready to belt their hearts out, but I remained sullen and quiet, smashed against the faux plush of my seat. Fred Flintstone stepped off the stage and extended his hand toward me. I could think of no other way to escape. Do it, my mind whispered. Do it now.

 I reeled back in my seat and quickly and forcefully donkey-kicked Fred Flintstone with both of my feet in his oversized orange gut. The thud was hollow, and the theater was silent, aside from the snickers of a few older kids who thought that it was all part of the show. Fred Flintstone stumbled backward with a small “uff.” His sidekick, Barney, quickly scanned the audience for any more takers. Johnny and Suzie excitedly jumped up on stage and joined in on a song about sharing, while my mother grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the theater.

 I never abused another mascot or clown again. my terror fed my flight-or-fight response, and from then on, I chose flight.

Maybe it was due to the popular use of polka dots in clown costumes, but at some point I developed an irrational fear of clusters and holes clustered close together. I absolutely cannot stand looking at clusters or stalks. It’s closely related to my fear of birds and crowds, and maybe they just exacerbate each other in a constant state of disgust whenever I walk outside. The thought of many objects (such as feathers, or many birds flying clustered together in the sky, or seeds, crabs, honeycomb, lotus pods, pomegranates, holes in wood, stalks of corn, queen anne’s lace, pipes, eggs, stubble, aerial views of crowds, etc.) crowded symmetrically in a small space FREAKS ME THE FUCK OUT. Looking at anything like that makes my skin crawl and I get an itchy feeling all over my entire body. Goose bumps will appear on my arms and legs, and I hate looking at those, too.