Giggle now. I get ridiculously dramatic after this.

I’m writing this as a time capsule post because it seems like nobody’s tomorrow is promised.

I’ve been stuck at home for the past four months because of the pandemic. And while that may seem like a blessing in disguise because (1) I don’t have to wake up so early for work and (2) I don’t have to brave Los Angeles traffic, it’s actually far from paradise.

I’d be happy taking back those tedious inconveniences if it meant that this virus was out of sight, out of mind. Most days, I’m actually spiraling down a deep hole where all I think about is death. I think about having to be put on a ventilator because I’m overweight and my Marla Singer-ass lungs have finally met its match. I envision having to rush to the hospital with one of my parents’ gasping for air. I have images where me and my parents take turns entering my little brother’s room to take care of him. I think about being stuck in this inescapable void that’s dark, and the air around me is heavy. All I hear is my inner voice. I’m stuck in the black for what seems like hours, until finally a familiar voice: “we’ll keep him on there for as long as it takes.” Then I’m drifting, drifting, drifting as minutes turn to hours, turn to days, turn to weeks, turn to months, then suddenly. I’m nothing.

I’ve tried wafting these imaginations away. I’ve done deep breathing exercises to keep me in the present. I’ve mindfully meditated. I go on walks with my parents and every so often take a drive out to get some sunlight and see friends just so I can remind myself that it’s not a toxic wasteland out here. I’ve even started hitting my vape pen more because in moments like this, you’ve got to let God, and let ganja.

But I’m still scared. For every book that I read, for every movie that I watch, for every video game that I play, there’s always a tiny voice in the back of my head that constantly reminds me of what I’m trying to distract myself from. I don’t want to manifest these thoughts into reality, but I often feel helpless. Coronavirus anxiety is real.

It helps a little that I live in a bubble where almost everyone seems to be on the same page (i.e.: wear a mask while you’re out in public, social distance), but the minute I scroll through Facebook or Twitter, I’m instantly barraged with news articles and videos of naysayers – both everyday average citizens to people in power. And I can’t help but to be angry. I didn’t think it was actually possible to fume through my ears for people I don’t personally know; but their mistrust in scientists and their insistence that masks and social distancing impedes on their so-called civil liberties is beyond my comprehension.

I’ve tried to walk a mile in their “shoes” – cargo shorts, flip flops, cracked soles and all – but I cannot for the life of me see eye to eye. How can the coronavirus be a hoax when the ENTIRE. WORLD. HAD. TO. DEAL. WITH. IT? How can you compare the coronavirus with the seasonal flu when the coronavirus is literally pacing yearly flu deaths in the six or seven months it’s been here? How can you sit there and tell me you think masks are dangerous and pointless when it’s the single most effective thing that can help us mitigate the virus? And most importantly: how do you live your life with little regards to the elderly; or the people you work with who have underlying health conditions; or essential grocery and fast food workers; or nonessential retail associates; or the family that lives paycheck to paycheck;  or the homeless people that walk your city streets?

How did you decide that as long as you’re okay, it is acceptable that people die from this?

Time and time again, these naysaying Kens and Karens are reminded as to why safety guidelines need to be followed, yet they act like it’s the first time they’re hearing this. If Ken and Karen are upset with my complicity, then I am incredibly upset with their stupidity. This virus is not a game. And yeah, I’ve made my mistakes trying to brush this off. But the gamble is not worth it. If it takes one person’s death to make it abundantly evident that this virus should be taken seriously, just imagine how I feel knowing four people who’ve died from this. It’s loud and crystal clear.

I miss my friends. I miss my coworkers. I miss my boyfriend. I miss my go-to sushi spot and the staff that always greet me with, “LONG TIME NO SEE” even though it’s only been three weeks. I miss going to Universal at least twice a month and riding the same rides in the same sequence every time I visit. I miss invading my coworkers’ offices or cubicles just to shoot the shit. I miss my boss’s wise cracks. I miss cigarettes. I miss taking Ubers and Lyfts. I miss going to bars and clubs, which is where I’ll get obliterated to the point where I need to take an Uber or a Lyft. I miss going to art conventions where I can splurge on enamel pins and art prints. I miss singing and dancing at shows. I miss the gym’s many leg machines, squat racks, and benches. I miss not being scared to step out of the car. I miss stepping out without a mask. I miss not having to turn around to make sure the people behind me are six feet away. I miss not having to track down what I do each day just in case I need to contact trace. I miss not having guilt trips for stepping out of the house for Starbucks and potentially bringing that virus in. I miss not being paranoid. I miss being care free. I miss planting a big wet smoocher on Ernie without thinking about the consequences of that. I miss being able to hug my friends hello and goodbye without the disclaimer of, “we’re fine, we’re fine.” I miss normal – whatever the hell that was.

So no, I’m not okay. But I will be. Eventually.