Two young girls lived above me. They shared the tiny space with their other family members. The small apartment began to get crowded with all of the extra things the girls brought in. The mother suggested they declutter, but the girls never listened. The more things they brought home, the more noise the family made. One of the girl’s stomping kept me up. The other girl’s heavy footsteps made the floor creak as though the ceiling were to cave in. The heavier sister kept me awake the most. With the two of them awake, I could never sleep. The rest of the family was beginning to get fed up with the sisters too. The collective noise of the family was building like steam in a tea kettle. Now the entire family kept me up. Even mornings became intolerable. To catch up on lost sleep, I slept through the day. However, no amount of sleep seemed to make me less tired. I was a prisoner in my own home. The dreaded moment when they returned always happened; like clockwork, the noise began again.
The two sisters, one named depression, one named anxiety kept me up every night.