I am not afraid of spiders.
Now it is true that ALL my bad dreams are about spiders, but it's not because I'm afraid of spiders. I'm not.
What I have is a mild case of arachnophobia. There's a big difference.
I am afraid of angry pit bulls that run towards me at full speed, growling, slavering and frothing. I am afraid of men in ski masks pointing AK-47's at my face. I am afraid of the unsecured bookcase I see my child is climbing on. Anyone with a sane mind should be afraid of those things.
Spiders are no real threat. There are very few spiders with any serious venom in my immediate region (black widow,) and with my body mass, even the most dangerous spiders in the world (redback, funnel web, both native to Australia,) would be hard pressed to do more than make me ill, even with my suppressed immune system.
I would have to go out of my way to be put at jeopardy by any kind of spider, and the ones with which I come in contact regularly are utterly unable to harm me in the least. I have no fear of spiders whatsoever.
Stark, naked terror on the other hand, I got plenty of.
A phobia is not truly about fear. Fear is a natural response that helps you recognize potentially dangerous situations and react (usually by screaming and running away, as nature intended.) Fear is a valuable evolutionary development, and is perfectly sane and rational.
Phobias are when your brain has a malfunction in this department. A phobia short-circuits your logic center and a crosswires your "oh, look at that harmless arachnid (or other phobia-inducing image,) how interesting" response with the slightly less useful "GAAAH!! MONSTER! KILL IT WITH FIRE!! ITS PRESENCE IS PROOF THAT THERE IS NO GOD!! FEED IT THE CHILDREN AS A DISTRACTION WHILE I RUN AWAY!" reaction.
It can be rather inconvenient, is what I am saying.
Now, I will state up front that mine is a mild case. I love spiders. I have many realistically-painted miniatures of spiders for use in RPG's, and love to read about them (did you know that the Brown Recluse, or fiddleback spider can be identified by its eyes, of which it only has six, which are arranged in three dyads, or sets of two very close together, giving it the appearance of having three eyes, one in the middle and one on either side of its cephalothorax? Cool, huh?)
But when I see one, my cool meter drops to zero. I don't freak out visibly, but inside I am losing my shit. I generally do not scream like a little girl, but I want to.
The thing is, when you are exposed to something that triggers your phobia, it activates your 'fight or flight' response. It's not like I look at a harmless brown house spider (seriously, their effects are on par with a mosquito bite,) and think "Uh-oh, that there is a spider, I better be careful here." No, my brain jsut politely sends a memo to my entire nervous system that we are currently surrounded by an entire army of cyborg ninja dinosaur commandos and to prepare to react accordingly.
Paranoia grips me and I begin frantically looking around me to see if there are more. My heart races, my senses sharpen, and my body screams out danger. I am ready to run, fight, jump, scream, dodge, and do whatever it takes to survive.
I have the worst 'spider-sense' ever.
But I'm cool about it. I keep myself under control, and try not to embarrass myself. However, I live in Florida, the spider capital of...well, I've only lived in Florida, so I'm going to declare it the most spiderous place on the planet and not bother gathering any further intel 'cos it's my damn blog.
Every morning, I leave my house in the predawn dark to put the lunches and stuff in the car before we leave for school. I walk with a broom waving before me like a Buddhist monk with a fan. I do this to try to clear away any webs that might be in my path (most likely caused by the spiny orb weaver, one of the few spiders my brain does not recognize as such and never frightens me, except for their webs.)
Walking into a spider web is one of the most horrific things that can happen to me on a regular basis, and I immediately have to have my wife inspect me to make sure I am not covered in octopedal demons like Indy's traitorous guide in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
And now, a story of how arachnophobia sucks, and how my wife hates me.
Many years ago, my wife and I took a trip to Washington D.C. We went to the National Zoo with our friend Kristina and had a good time until my wife ruined everything.
We went to the bug house, which was really cool and fascinating. I separated from the girls and wandered around. They have oodles of interesting exhibits, including a Brazilian bird-eating spider, which is a tarantula the size of a dinner plate (the name is a misnomer, as they generally do not eat birds.) This did not bother me, as the thing was curled up and looked like a fuzzy lump, contained in his glass prison. No problem there.
But then, right at the exit of the bug house, there is a corner display of the Australian (of course,) Golden Orb Weaver. These things are sickeningly huge web spinners, and if you check them out on the web (no pun intended,) you really can find pictures of one eating a bird. That it caught in its fucking web!
These things are hideous, and they were set up in a little kiosk with surfaces to spin their webs. I was just wondering how they fed them when I noticed the horrifying truth. There was no glass around the enclosure.
There was no glass around the enclosure!!
My world shrunk down to that single fact: there was nothing stopping these hell beasts from leaping forth from their corner lair and swarming all over me (other than logic, biology and their utter inability to perceive me with their crappy eyesight, but remember people, phobia.)
I had to find Kim and Kristina and get the hell out of there. I found them, and through clenched teeth explained that we had to leave. They asked me why, and I told them, "spiders."
Now that should have been enough for them, but my wife is not always as cooperative as she could be. As I led them to the exit, which you will recall is right next to the fear vortex of silken death, I pointed to the source of all evil and whispered, "there's no glass around that display!"
Kim walked up to the display saying "nuh-uh, there's got to be." I assured her there was not and tried to pull her back using the telekinesis I hoped was lying dormant until just this moment (nope.)
It was then that Kim must have decided that being married to me wasn't that big on her priority list, because she committed perhaps the single most divorce-worthy act of our entire time together.
She stood right at the edge of the display and said, "I'm sure there's glass here." AND SHE WAVED HER FUCKING ARM THROUGH THE EMPTY SPACE WHERE DWELT THE SPAWN OF ATLACH-NACHA!
I could have killed her. The fool! Didn't she realize that doing that meant they could get on her? And through her, they could get to me!
I fled from there, having to pass through one of those curtains of plastic strips like you see leading into the freezer at the grocery store. I was convinced that legions of hideous arachnids were crawling about me.
The curtain led into the butterfly garden, but I was too amped up in defense mode to enjoy pretty bugs. I'm quite sure I was the only person there punching any butterflies that flew too close.
I have never fully forgiven my wife, who still thinks the whole thing is pretty damn funny.
So no. I am not afraid of spiders.
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