I wonder what it’s like to be Lou Gehrig

And have a disease named after you.

Or what it’s like to be the reason arachibutyrophobia

- fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth -

exists.

 

I, at a mere eight years of age, was not unique.

No, entomophobia - fear of insects - is not unique.

It makes me no Lou Gehrig. 

It doesn’t even come close to peanut butter choking hazards.

 

Like mother, like daughter. My mother feared insects too

But the one thing that she feared more than six legs was

Knowing they were her roommates.

Our shabby city apartment was no welcoming abode.

 

No. Visitors. Allowed. No. Freeloaders. Allowed.

 

The creepy-crawlies behind the oven had to go.

Armed with a newspaper, I stood at four feet five inches

And ready for battle.

Swallowing my dizziness, my nausea, my sweat, my fear,

I lunged for the scuttling blobs. A cockroach found its way

To my hand, up my arm, towards my sleeve, and I 

blacked 

out.

 

My inner demons, they do haunt me. Oh, they do.

 

I have: not entomophobia. Katsaridaphobia. 

I wonder what it’s like to be the reason katsaridaphobia

exists. Fear of cockroaches.

The buggers have outlived us, and they will outlive us.

Their children have outlived us. Their progeny has outlived us.

 

My mother calls me to arms again. I am handed a magazine.

Eighteen years of age, and five feet four inches.

Round one, she tells me. We are no longer in the stuffy apartment, but

In a suburban home. It’s much cleaner.

My demons don’t fear cleanliness. They feed off me and my fear.

They followed me here, and this is really round two.

Round one happened years ago. Round one, I lost.

And this is a rematch. Me versus my inner demons, my worst fear,

What sends me convulsing deep into the night and sinks me into an abyss

I fear I one day will not return from. I fear it almost as much as cockroaches.

 

The first hiss reaches my ears and I retch. It’s absolutely disgusting.

Then a leg, a leg, the carapace, an antennae. I feel sick.

But this is retribution. Round two. Redemption.

I ready the magazine, and I throw myself forward.

Just like I throw myself into defeating my demons. I force them to shrink.

I force them to hiss and retreat into the darkness.

 

Fear is constant. It is what we fear that will change. 

I fear insects, six legged crawling creatures. I fear cockroaches.

From eight to eighteen, I’ve lost. I’ve lost battles, but the tide is turning

because now I am winning. I am winning battles with my demons. I pluck

a leg, a leg, the carapace, an antennae. I own it. It is mine.

 

 

What is growth?

It’s recognition. Realization. Things will change, circumstances stay fickle,

but I am constant. 

I’m growing. Adults face their fears.

Children, well, children pass out.

I refuse to pass out. I am an adult, and I have grown up, and fears are there

to be overcome. Fearless is not living without fear, but rather

Living in spite of it.

I am no Lou Gehrig. My name will not go down in history.

My impact will not reach far and wide.

My story will be shared, and my story will inspire, and that is impact enough.