I’m afraid of spiders. Like, really afraid of spiders. Like, arachnophobia is almost an understatement afraid of spiders.
I’ve been this afraid of spiders for as long as I can remember; for as long as my parents can remember, even. I’m not aware of ever having had some form of traumatic spider experience, nor can I really logically explain why I’m so afraid of them. It doesn’t matter if it’s big, small, alive, dead, across the room, on me, or even fake; if it’s a spider, I’m probably afraid of it.
So that brings me to an incident about two months ago where I woke up one morning to a spider on my bathroom door. It wasn’t huge, but it was big for me, and it took me about an hour of staring at it, trying to come up with solutions, and generally being too afraid to do anything useful before I ended up accidentally scaring it off the door, losing track of it somewhere in my bathroom, and then wasting another half hour or so trying to figure out what to do next before running to the store for spider poison and cautiously spraying it everywhere I thought it might have gone. All said and done this ordeal took up over two hours of my morning and ruined my work schedule for the week (fortunately I’m allowed to flex my time and was planning on coming in later that morning anyway).
That’s when I finally realized I needed to do something about it.