I am very private about what goes on in my digestive track. It’s no secret that it hates me and punishes me for the slightest of transgressions. I don’t like to talk about it, and I’d be perfectly happy if the world assumed I never had to poo. So this is a big deal for me. I am admitting that this morning, I had a desperate need to go.

I had just finished working out, and I was HOT and my stomach was ANGRY. I thought about trying to make it home, because there was NO WAY I was going to go at the gym. I decide I’ll hit the bathroom in the lobby. Keep in mind, it’s 7:00 am and I have just spent the last 45 minutes working out and I’ve been up since 5:20 am. I’m already in a delicate mental situation of being sleepy and cranky.

Someone is in the bathroom. At 7:00 am. WHO GETS TO WORK THAT EARLY ON PURPOSE?! And why that bathroom? It’s nowhere near anything. If you think that I am about to go with someone else in there…well, you’re right. My tummy HURTS. So as my poo buddy is in the first stall, I walk down to the last one.

I walk in, turn and start to drop trou and I see it. A GIANT FUCKING SPIDER. I mean HUGE. I think it may have been a wolf spider, but I literally can’t deal with googling it to confirm. I freeze and start sweating. What the fuck do I do? I can’t sit there and do my business, WHAT IF IT STARTS MOVING?? I can’t scream or take off running because SOMEONE IS POOPING IN STALL #1.

I contemplate solving all my problems by just dropping dead right there. But then I’m afraid the spider will chew my face off. As calmly as I can I book it and run into a stall two doors down. I’m sure Stall #1 is probably confused, but I can’t think about that. All I can think about is being in the most vulnerable position an adult can be in with a GIANT FUCKING SPIDER mere feet away waiting to attack me.

Now, here’s the thing…I have had this nightmare. I have a severe case of arachnophobia. I don’t have a choice. Spiders make me sweat and my heart races and I lose the power of speech. I stare wild eyed at it and gesticulate for someone to kill it in some sort of crazy lady pantomime. I am TERRIFIED of the creepy bastards. And one of the things I do when I fixate is come up with worst possible scenarios.

The #1 WPS used to be a spider touching me. Then that happened. It was the worst possible thing I had ever thought of, regarding my phobia, and it happened. IN REAL LIFE. The week or two after, I had horrible PTSD and I fixated on it and came up with other awful things that could happen. Every time I would use the bathroom at work, even for a quick pee, I would imagine a spider crawling out from behind the toilet and killing me. I mean, what do you do?

When the pervie little fuckers get in my shower, I am out of there as fast as possible. Naked, soaped up, I stand there sobbing and yelling for someone to come get it. I mean, I’M NAKED. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SQUISH IT WITH?? Oh, and I can’t really squish them because WHAT IF IT GETS ON ME. Or become a zombie spider? (Did I tell you that story?) So in my head, the work bathroom scenario involves me pulling and Elvis and living in company history as being the dumb bitch that had a heart attack on the toilet. THIS CANNOT HAPPEN.

For weeks I would scan the bathroom before I’d even enter the stall. I let my guard down and this is what happens. Also, Poprocks posted a picture of a giant, panic inducing spider on his tumblr yesterday. This is somehow his fault.

Anyway, I am full of anxiety and everything I see out of the corner of my eye, every brush I feel on any part of my body, anything I imagine…PANIC ATTACK. Soap bubble slid down my leg in the shower and I nearly fell and cracked my head open due to me jumping out of my skin. I know it’s funny, and after the initial panic has subsided I can laugh about the events. Eventually. But living with this phobia is starting to ruin my life. It’s getting worse.

On my mom’s birthday, I made her dinner. I realized I was missing an ingredient, so I sent her to the store in the middle of cooking. I had her laptop open on the kitchen table with the recipe pulled up for consultation purposes. As I finished a step, I turn to walk over to the laptop to double check my work. There’s something on her screen…I get a little closer…BABY FUCKING TARANTULA.

There is a GIANT, HAIRY, BLACK, BABY TARANTULA ON HER LAPTOP.

I flip out. I call Savannah, as she is due to come over and beg her to come RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRIGHTNOOOOOOW!! I am reaching decibels and frequencies hard for the human ear to decipher. Her cube mate can hear me through the phone. She tries to calm me down and offers solutions.

“Close the laptop, idiot”.

“SPIDERGUTS IN THE KEEEEEEEEYS!!”

I finally decide to get the vacuum cleaner and suck that bastard straight into spider hell.

I CAN’T GET THE HOSE ATTACHED AND IT’S NOT SUCKING.

I have to squish it. It’s crawling all over the table, the stack of presents and the laptop. I am hysterically screaming at the spider. Fun fact? They’re deaf. So it can’t hear me shouting, “STAY WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!!”

I grab a shoe, bravely inch towards the table and….THWACK!

VICTORY IS MINE! SUCK IT, SPIDER!!

I stare at it for a few minutes and then it’s legs start to uncurl and it starts to wiggle around. IT’S NOT DEAD. ZOMBIE SPIDER.

I then proceed to beat the everloving shit out of it and retreat to the living room and call Manfred, still hysterical, and start babbling about zombie spiders.

“Um, babe…I’m still at work”

“AND THEN IT CAME BACK TO LIFE AND I SWEAR IT WAS A BABY TARANTULA AND IT’S GOING TO KILL ME IN MY SLEEP.”

“Uh, ok…just, uh calm down and I’ll call you when I leave work”

At this point my mother, who originated my phobia with her own, comes home to find me rocking in a dark corner sobbing. Not an exaggeration.

Ruining my life. And unless I move to fucking Antarctica, they will continue to freak me the fuck out every opportunity they get.

I think it’s time for therapy.