The Diseased Spider

To call this story "MY Diseased Spider" would indicate I have some sort of ownership over it, sadly, it seems to own me more often than not. I had not invited this atrocity into my life nor my home, yet here he was all the same. To some he was deemed an innocuous, petty irritant, not worthy of recognition much less trying to dislodge him. To me, however, he was a much greater threat.

This unwelcome house guest was spinning an evil web of connections from one area to another where none should be. It pained me to watch how effortlessly he was taking over what had once been my domain. His mere existence terrifying me, rendering me nearly immobile with fear & disdain. I was powerless to defeat this monster, although to some, my reaction seemed melodramatic & ridiculous. I was overcome by this entity's presence & venomous state. Abruptly I edged further away from the things in my life I once enjoyed, wincing with each backwards step. Nearly reduced to tears, I tried to turn my back & run away from it. One cannot escape what resides within however, & each day I found myself checking for more signs of its existence. Fearfully wanting to pinpoint this monster & overpower it, ridding it from my life. Ah, but this creature was tricky & adept at hiding, lurking & expanding its web, thus creating even more painful connections with twists & turns. Some laughed at my trepidations & the fact I'd subcommed to something they deemed so petty. Why couldn't my pain be realized, understood & treated? Why did others not see the magnitude & imploding effect of this unwanted house guest?

I tried in many ways to exterminate what lay within, but each failed attempt killed a little of myself instead. The weight of this inextinguishable parasite grew heavy within. Over time it became difficult for me to know where it ended (if at all) & I began - or if I still even existed in my true form? The toxins I used in hope of regaining my life created difficulties of their own. Do I even remember how to step forward anymore rather than back? If so, my grace is surely gone. I will hobble with a red-flagged limp stating of its own "This person has been damaged in ways you cannot see". Even one rickety, faltering step forward, even if only inches, is still a victory worth fighting for. I have no chance of being who I was before, but hopefully a chance of possibly being better than I am.