I have melissophobia, or a crippling fear of bees (and throw in wasps and yellow jackets for good measure). But put me in a room filled with spiders and snakes and I would be relatively calm. After all, they can’t fly into your hair and sting you (yes, I am speaking from personal experience). 

Luckily, I have been stung by a bee only a grand total of one and a half times: The first time was when I was 3 and saw a wounded bee on a rock and smashed it with my finger. Naturally, I do not remember this, but the story had me sweating when my mom told me. 

The second time, however, was the time that truly sparked my fear — the start of the nightmare I have yet to get over. I was sitting on a hammock in my backyard with my best friend, surrounded by many flowers, leaves and at least 20 bees. I chose to ignore the incessant buzzing at first, since I was fed with the (apparently incorrect) knowledge that bees will not sting you unless you bothered them. Well, my trauma proves that fact wrong.

While I was sitting on the hammock, I felt a sudden movement in my hair, and my life flashed before my eyes while my friend stared nonchalantly.

“It’s probably just a leaf, Kavya.”

“Can you take it out for me?”

My friend reached into my hair, pulled out what she thought to be a leaf, and opened her hand to find … a wasp! 

Terrified, she threw the wasp onto the floor and used what little air she had left within her lungs to scream for us to run. We frantically ran inside my house and locked the door behind us, checking 1,000 times for the wasp — fortunately, we outran it. 

I then felt a sting-like sensation in my head, and I swear it felt like a brain tumor. But after having my mom, sister and friend check for any sting, I was relieved to know that the wasp never actually got to its suicidal mission. Still, the trauma counts as at least half a sting.

Ever since that encounter, I have always been the one kid to run at least 20 feet away when they even see a bee, wasp, yellow jacket — just any insect that has wings and a malicious yellow-and-black coat.

I may never be able to recover from my scarring encounters and, frankly, it’s OK! I have come to peace with the fact that this fear will be an inevitable part of my identity. 

Laughing about your traumas is the best way to cope with them, right?