For as long as I can remember I have always had a fear of bugs. It was the way they walked, flew, and just looked that would send a trail of shivers down my spine. While I was okay with only a few insects, those being butterflies and worms, I would tend to cower away from the vast majority of them. Occasionally when ever a bug would magically manage to make it into our small home, I would attempt to be strong and get rid of it myself. However, I could never bring myself to crush it under a shoe with my shaking hands. As tears would begin to trickle down my rosy cheeks, I'd flee in an instant calling for my mother to make the bug leave. I didn't want to harm the bugs because deep down I felt that bugs didn't want to harm me either.

But there were those times when a certain creature would burrow itself into the dark corners of my light pink room. A creature so horrific and terrifying it could bring anyone to tears. Spiders. It was the thin long legs that would move so slowly but so menacingly. The translucent webs they'd leave behind for unsuspecting victims to walk through. Even the tiniest of spiders could make me stay out of my room for a week. I'd lie awake in bed, eyes wide open with the scary thought of just how many spiders were in our house. It could of been hundreds, living in the creaks and cracks of the oak flooring that clothed my room.

As I got older I began to grow out of my fear of bugs just as I'd grown out of dolls. Yet just as old fears would dissolve, new ones would emerge. Soon it wasn't the small bugs in my home that would send me crying to my mother, it was the people outside that would make me want to crawl under my covers for an escape. Looking at it now I see that my fear of insects and people weren't so different. You see, some people were like the small beetles that would reside in my bathroom sink. They were passive and maybe even just as scared as I was. They didn't mean any harm but were only passing by, awaiting another destination. Nonetheless there were those who strongly resembled the spiders in my bedroom corners. They would burrow deep into the the dark spaces of my life. Waiting to strike, trapping me into their complex web that at first looked so beautiful and delicate. Ultimately staying until you rid them of your life. It wasn't a fear of interaction. No, it was fear of outcome. Of what would happen at the end of a relationship. I was never bothered by my fear. Oddly, I found comfort in it. Like having a parasite I'd grown fond of, it was better to live with it than to get rid of it. Frankly, I still don't understand it now. Even after the pain fear leaves, I'm still content with its residence.