A disclaimer before I begin: no one supports people with mental illnesses more than I do. I consider myself an ally to all victims of psychological disorders and I admit that there are many unorthodox methods that can help these suffering people deal with their issues. I just feel like I need to draw the line with my roommate’s coping mechanism. His hundreds of bees should not count as emotional support animals.

I would never claim to know what’s going on in his head. His troubles are his own business, and he knows that I will always be there for him if he needs a listening ear. However, I simply don’t see how a hive swarming with bees could offer any sort of comfort. He claims the buzzing soothes him, but the constant droning has barred me from sleep since this quarter started.

I keep trying to have an open mind, but it becomes difficult every time he dons his beekeeping suit in the middle of the night and harvests honey from the hive in his closet. He could at least tell me when he’s about to mess with them, because I’d like a little warning before awaking to a barrage of emotionally-supportive stings.

Honestly, I would have no problem with a dog, a cat, or even a pig. But something seems suspicious about his insistence that jarring the honey produced by his hive and selling it to other students for profit somehow helps him cope with his inner demons.