Free Pass to Scream

A long while back (although it was really only a year) I read a blog post/comic by the wonderful Allie entitled: Sneaky Hate Spiral. (http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html)

The best part about it was the accuracy with which she portrays something everyone has experienced.
And lately, unfortunately my life has been no exception.
Stress is funny that way.
It builds and builds and suffocates you until there is nothing left to do but explode.
Thus, recently, I find myself fighting off a strange urge to scream.

And then I realized.

EVERYONE (and I do mean everyone) should be allowed a free pass to some place that allows them the chance to scream.
Places like:

An amusement park -- in which dangerous feats of physics are made possible by strategic placements of metal and wheels.

A ball game -- in which the epic feats of sportsmanship inspire such anger and rapture that you are forced by nature to participate in the raucous expression of your emotions.

A haunted house -- in which various costumed people, props, and mechanisms are propped, placed, and strewn about with the express purpose of scaring you senseless.

A club -- in which the music is so much louder than your ability to speak that you are forced to raise your voice to naturally unhealthy decibels in order to be understood.

Or perhaps events/activities would suit some better?
Things like:

A concert -- in which you and hundreds of other fans show appreciation by vocally assisting your favorite band/singer with remembering the words to their songs.

Bungee jumping -- in which, tied to an elastic rope, you willingly throw yourself off the railing of a bridge, threatening your body with an x-mph smash into the ground below.

Sky diving -- in which you take classes for the purpose of eventually throwing yourself out of an airplane.

Cliff diving -- in which you and some of your friends bet on who will have enough gall to jump from that extremely high cliff side, into the presumably death-by-stone-impalement waters below

Then again, there are some potentially more constructive passes that might be helpful:

Singing -- in which you are allowed to sing as loud and as off key as you want, preferably with the accompaniment of a REALLY LOUD BAND.

Acting -- in which by right of character, you are allowed to speak as ornery or excitedly or obnoxiously as you'd like. Or, in which you die and therefore must let out a last cry.

There are probably many more things that would be a valid de-stressing-by-screaming activity so I rest my case.

Everyone should be allowed a free pass, to some thing, somewhere, where they are given the undeniable right (not privilege) to yell whatever they want without consequence, as loud as they want.

I think that doing this would make the world a much more peaceful place.

More about Spiders

I thought, since yesterday I explained how I react to spiders, I would today talk about how I believe I contracted the fear of these 8 legged beings.
Yes, contracted. It is a sickness that can and I will, OVERCOME.

Anyhow.

When I was young, very young, in elementary school, I read a story in Highlights magazine about a Black Widow Spider.

I was a highly imaginative child, a trait I still treasure, and as such was highly invested in this story. The young girl who was the narrator and main character was, I imagined, a lot like myself and I related to her.
In the story (although I remember it only vaguely, so I'm not sure of its accuracy) the young girl grew up on or around a farm.
In the picture that accompanied the story, I recall her sitting (or laying?) in the foreground with pale skin and dark hair. In the background I remember seeing planks of wood, bracers, beams, like a barn.
I grew up pretty much on a farm. Or at least many of my younger years were spent near one and I was such an avid reader, easily relating to and being drawn to any kind of story.

When the young girl was bitten by a spider, a Black Widow, no less, I was naturally afraid for her.
At the time I didn't know much about spiders or their bites, or anything of the sort but the girl in the story was bit and almost died.

Now that I'm older I realize the drama of writing a story this way with the soul crushing fear of death at the tiny teeth marks of a spider.
But when I was young, I was petrified.

For weeks I scoured the limited pages of the internet and the few books I owned that mentioned spiders, to glean the location of the Black Widow.
I learned her markings (shiny black but with a red hour glass on the underside and occasional dots on the top) the locations in which they normally reside (warm dry climates, in dark places, cluttered and out of the way) and the consequences of being bitten (extreme pain, cramping, continuing for several days and not usually fatal except in the cases of children and elderly).

The summer after leaning all these things, or perhaps it was a few summers later, I had the unfortunate fate of actually being bitten by a spider.
It was a warm day, but not warm enough to go swimming. I remember that because I was at a friend's that had a pool, but none of us were in it.
Out in the back yard, beyond the pool, was a swing set and slide. I recall seeing many little white spiders crawling around there. Obviously, they weren't Black Widows, or even very large spiders, but there were an awful lot of them there, so I was a bit squeamish.

I can't remember now, if I ever slid down the slide but I do know that shortly after there was a sharp pain in my arm and it slowly swelled and changed color.

It wasn't a Black Widow but I was, of course, allergic.

Shockingly, at the time it happened I remember that my worst fear wasn't the allergy to spiders. I was afraid that the swelling wasn't going to be gone by the time I had to play viola at a concert a week or so away.

Still, I think I have reason to believe (especially seeing as I remember it so well) that this situation, coupled with that story that spooked me so much, is probably the origin of my arachnophobia.

Spiders and Spooks and Special Circumstances

I never used to be afraid of spiders. In fact, if you have ever been around me whilst in the presence of a spider, chances are you wouldn't know at all that I am.
More than once, I have been in a group of people (often all of us present are girls) and a spider has dropped down from some crevice or hole with the purpose of frightening us.
I mean, really, why else would a tiny 8 legged creature fling itself down within the reach of us much larger creatures? We have the ability to destroy a spider in a moment. With our fists.
Surely a spider knows this? Surely we have been a natural enemy since our birth?
Perhaps a spider is just the most daring of creatures. Maybe the brave mark of the animal kingdom should be the spider and not the lion. Lions are stronger and faster than the average human.
What bravery does it take to fell an enemy weaker than yourself?

But I digress.

As my friends and I stand, accosted by this poor creature there is often exclamations near shrieking and sometimes a call for the aid of some more masculine member of our party.
I however, am known to take up the torch of the hero, or heroine as it were, and rescue the group from the spider.

I don't kill them. Whether because I don't have the heart to do so or lack the nerve is of little consequence. A simple cup and paper trick removes the spider to an outside location.
Simple and easy, yes?
It's something I have been doing for years. Even as a kid I used to capture spiders and beetles and other unsightly or spooking bugs and release them away from the fearful sibling or friend.

It wasn't until I was older that I even noticed it bothered me.

You see, if I find myself face to face with the creatures, on my own, my pulse quickens and I catch my breath.

It's much, much harder for me to dispense of spiders when I'm doing it for myself.

Sometimes I think that it is because my self-preservation instinct is rigged for "flight" while my instinct for protecting others is latched to "fight".

And the wheel keeps turning on...

This morning, I awoke from a terrible dream.
In my dream, the world was in chaos. Revolutionaries, Mercenaries, Military, and everyone in between was fighting with each other. Fighting for something I didn't know or didn't understand.
I took refuge in a large mansion that had been converted into stores but I wasn't the only one.
The fighting continued inside and I ran and hide and cowered for my life. I couldn't fight back.
At some point, I found myself alone, in a room, hiding behind the exploding fluffy innards of a beautiful ex-chair and into the room in which I hid, came a man in a suit followed by another in street clothes.
They righted three of the tipped chairs and took a seat in two of them gesturing toward the third.
"Come out and take a seat. I don't want to harm you. Just talk with you," the suited man said.
His voice and manner I recall to be smooth, elegant, and deadly.
But he knew where I was, so I had no choice but to emerge.
So I stood and took a seat on the third chair, listening as the sounds of battle slowly died away outside.

I can analyze this scene over and over again. Compare it with the scenes that came before it and after it.

But none of it prepared me for the reality I woke to this morning.

My mother stepped out of the house, on her way to work, with my youngest siblings at her side, on their way to school.
Outside, her car, was no where to be seen.

I heard her yelling for my father. I came down the stairs the chaos of my dream echoing in the anger and panic in her voice.
A couple phone calls later and we find out, my mother's car was repossessed.

I am aware that these circumstances occur in a moderate frequency. A car is a luxury item after all, and luxury means that it can be removed but still, I was unprepared for the reality I was thrown into this morning.

"The rich get richer and the poor get poorer."
I don't know who the first was to say that but I know how right they are. It costs more to get a car back from repossession than it does to pay the bill in the first place.
And how, prey tell, do they expect you to pay so much more when you struggled to pay in the first place?

I'll never know.

My dream was chaos, disorder, fear.
I wonder if it was a reflection of the world.
My family isn't the only one that is faced with this problem and it's only going to get worse I fear.
I just hope that things change before the world breaks down into world wide violence akin to the riots in London.

And I pray that each one of us is given the chance to be part of the change as well.