I think a lot of people were like me in middle school social studies, learning about world-changing events and wondering if we’d ever live through one ourselves, fantasizing about what heroic deeds we’d do during such a crisis, forever etching our names into our great-grandchildren’s history books. I was one of those kids. Somewhere in the index of some textbook in 2092:
Salisbury, Jessica (b. 1993), p. 139: heroically sacrificed herself during the Second Alien Wars of 2037, posthumously canonized as saint and awarded Nobel Peace Prize
Now, it’s 2020. That world-changing event is now, and I’m sitting on my couch, watching YouTube videos, full from the shitty gas station pizza I decided to treat myself with. I’m talking one step above Kraft cheese on top of ketchup on top of cardboard, made only marginally more edible with the sprinkling of parmesan I added at home. This is quarantine cuisine, and when gas stations are just about the only thing still open, you work with what you’ve got.
My near-debilitating depression is the parmesan sprinkle on top of the looming fear of the apocalypse. My mental health has already been in a seriously dark place for a while, and all of this social isolation isn’t helping. I don’t have any motivation to do the things I’m passionate about anymore. I feel like my chances of ever making it in music have been dashed by this virus. My biological clock, for lack of a better word, has been ticking for a while. I already feel like an old maid in the music business, and who knows how long the world will be on hold. On top of that, in an industry that thrives on image, I’m not as young and cute as I used to be. I’m 80 pounds heavier than I was in high school and I have scars all over from picking at my own skin (thanks, anxiety). By the time this crisis blows over, I’ll undoubtedly be too old and not conventionally attractive enough to make it as a performer.
If anything, this past month has made me realize how unimportant I am in the grand scheme of things. Maybe I’ll never be a Nobel Prize winner or an iconic rock star, but I thought I’d be doing something important in the face of a global crisis like this. Maybe I’d be in Washington, advocating for the working class people who are struggling right now, or I’d be in a laboratory somewhere, slaving away day and night, searching for a cure. In reality? I’ve been depression-napping and tending to a fictional cartoon island (no shade towards Animal Crossing — I’m pretty sure that game is the only thing keeping a lot of people, including myself, sane right now). I feel helpless to stop any of the bad things happening in the world right now. I feel disposable.
I’m tearing up a little writing this, but I feel like this is something that needs to be written and put out there. Check on your friends during this pandemic, especially those who deal with things like depression and anxiety. Believe me, we need it right now.
JESSA JOYCE 