Melissa always thought she didn’t matter, just a speck of dust in the universe. She tried to convince herself otherwise, repeating the mantra: “I am important, I am loved, I matter, and I have fun!” She set an alarm on her teal blue iPhone 14 for 9:00 AM every morning. The “Dollop” ringtone had an upbeat tempo she thought would help.

Melissa tried not to feel sorry for herself. She tried therapy, journaling, meditation, and even cocaine—anything to lift her spirits. Despite having moments of fun and joy in her life, she could never fully silence the nagging thought that she didn’t matter.

When Melissa turned fifty—a milestone she had dreaded more than most things—everything truly began to fall apart. She was diagnosed with a devastating, terminal disease. Her genetic report came back showing several pathological mutations, prompting her doctors to run even more tests.

The results were grim: she was at high risk for pneumothorax and renal cancer, with cysts riddled throughout her body. Her strength was whittling away like a ship lost in the fog. To make matters worse, her follow-up MRI flagged a suspicion of cancer.

How could this all happen at once? And why now, in her fiftieth year?

Melissa was despondent. Tears came and went without warning. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the universe’s way of telling her there wasn’t enough room for her anymore. She sat with the weight of it all, trying to make sense of the chaos.

Melissa didn’t want to be a sob story. She didn’t want others to feel sorry for her. So, she distracted herself by turning on the TV.

It was the news. Ronald Drumf and Felon Tusk had rigged the recent election, and democracy was crumbling.

She stared in disbelief as the United States, now barely united, fell into the grip of fascism and oligarchy—a pattern repeating across the globe. Terror washed over her. What could she possibly do?

Then, a wry smile crept across her face. She mattered! She was falling apart, and so was democracy.

“Thank you, universe!” she shouted.

The world wasn’t able to function without her, so it fell into the hands of evil. She realized, in that moment, she was responsible for saving the world—saving democracy itself.

Melissa was determined to heal, to get better. She immersed herself in therapies and self-help classes, convinced that saving herself would save the U.S. and the Earth. The power of the mind, she decided, was a valuable weapon.

Weeks of relentless positivity began to yield results. She started seeing glimmers of hope. An underground coalition of more than 100,000 federal workers, lawmakers, judges, and citizens was fighting back.

Her doctors were astounded. Her body was healing. Melissa knew she mattered, and she made every moment count.

“I’ve heard of miracles, but I’ve never really seen one,” her doctor said, studying the computer screen in front of them. “Not that I’m calling this a miracle. I am, after all, aware of the placebo effect. Look here—your nerves have revived, and your cysts have disappeared. But how are you feeling, Melissa?”

Melissa smiled and lifted herself slightly, pressing her hands against the chair. “I am important, I am loved, I matter, and I have fun!” she declared.

Then she looked at the doctor for approval—but quickly looked away. She didn’t need his approval. She already had the answers within her.

The doctor smiled back. “That’s great, Melissa. Well, we should still keep a close eye on things. I’ll order some labs, and we’ll follow up in eight weeks.”

“Great, thanks, Dr. Kevorkian,” Melissa replied, her voice light. She couldn’t wait to get home for her 4:00 PM alarm: “People love me, people learn from me, people love helping me.”

As she left the small office, the television in the lobby blared with breaking news.

“Breaking news!” the newscaster announced. “Countries worldwide have been working together and have finally arrested the authoritarian leaders. They are being tried at The Hague for war crimes and treason.”