Fear-Part 1

I think that every person has a different reaction to their fears. This is not supposed to be some shocking statement, mind you. One is either abnormally attracted to or repulsed by their fears. One either wants to know why they are so terrified, so they concentrate in the phobic element, or they want nothing to do with said object.
I guess you could say that I have several fears that follow both of these paths.
I have a definite fear of most creepy crawlies with more than 6 legs. I guess you could say the arachnid family. Centipedes, millipedes, spiders...the whole lot of them creep me out.
As a child, I used to collect them in a plastic bug observatory. I was a sadistic young child. Sometimes I would put two particularly formidable looking spiders in the observatory together, to see which one would survive. Many times they would simply be in a panic to find a way out, and wouldn't bother each other. I would get impatient and release them. Sometimes, I would find the right pair, and a battle royal would ensue.


I have no idea why this fascinated me, other than the fact that I wanted to see something that terrified me meet a terrible end. Sick, now that I think of it.
After observing spiders in my plastic observatory for awhile, I got to be less afraid of them. In fact, I grew to love them. I read every book about them. I fancied that I would become a entomologist to study them further. My obsession bled over to strange proportions. I started to take my traveling observatory to school.
I had spotted some particularly formidable specimens in the far reaches of the playground, and wanted to see if I could snag them during recess. I caught them and displayed them to my home room, half of which were appalled, (the girls), half of which were in awe (the boys). Wow. I had found a way to gain popularity...at least with the boys. (I guess I had my priorities straight-so to speak- even back then...)
Then it happened. I was allowed to put my spider jail on the window sill for the remainder of the afternoon, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Mitchell, my teacher that year.

During the 2 O'clock hour, we were cleaning the classroom (a Friday ritual). I asked to use the hall pass to go to the restroom. When I returned, I found all of my beloved spider babies dead...the murder weapon-Murphy's Oil Soap- the killer...oh, and I'll never forget this as long as I live- Lynn Cappella. She mocked me as I cried at the loss of my magnificent specimens. The teacher claimed ignorance to the whole event, but didn't punish the little bitch.
Twenty minutes prior, I had been a hero among men. Now I lay crying in a corner as they laughed at me, and Lynn Cappella's laugh echoed through the classroom.
I will never forget that day, or that cruel little girl. We grew older together, and graduated from the same high school MANY years later. I could never really look at her after that. And I never collected any more spiders. And now, I am more terrified of them than ever.
What has been the point of this essay? I'm working toward it. There are 2 more parts in this little essay series...I do have a point...hang in there.
Till then, if anyone knows Lynn Cappella, give her the bird for me.
;)
Luv,
SGS