The Noise Upstairs

Teri looked in the bathroom mirror, realizing this would likely be her last time ever doing so. She poured as much of the nearly full bottle of her mother’s Ambien in her hand and then into her mouth and washed it all down with a four-ounce glass of Pinot Grigio.

She been plagued by a certain darkness for most of her 35 years. Like a smokey thunder cloud hovering over her life and in her mind most days. It was often hard to see the positive in things. Her glasses weren’t rose-colored—they were more of a dingy, cracked rust. That was what the world and life usually looked like through her eyes.

The stress. The anxiety. The overwhelm. It felt like it was constant. Her mind so often at work. She found herself thinking…a lot.

And the more she thought, the more stressed, anxious, and often depressed she would become…and often remain. Where was her joy? she would wonder. Where was her inspiration for pushing on? For sunnier days to look forward to? 

There seemed to be none. And she was over it.

She was sure that cocktail would take effect pretty soon. After about 20 uneventful minutes passed, what she had believed was her final heavy feeling of disappointment earlier had in fact turned out not to be the last she would feel. Here it was again. I can’t even kill myself right, she thought to herself.

She walked back into her childhood bedroom, which was up the hallway from that of her parents—or, her mom and stepdad—who were both at work. She didn’t plan for it to happen here. Here just was where she happened to find herself once she reached the point where her mind was finally made up. When she felt she couldn’t take it anymore.

She found herself glancing at everything in sight—wondering what she would see and think, what would happen, next, after this succeeded.

Soon, the furry skin of the stuffed animals neatly situated at the foot of her bed began to blur. Her eyes became heavier, followed by her body. Lights seemed to flicker, as if someone were playing with the switch in the room.

Her thinking became jumbled and then distant. And then, nothing.

Her eyes fully closed and her body dropped, sending a vibration through the floor. There was silence for what felt like a few short moments. And then, her eyes opened…wide.

She still lay on the floor, but as she looked around, she saw it was no longer that of her bedroom. Or even anywhere in her parents’ house. It didn’t look familiar at all, but oddly, she sensed there was something about it that felt familiar, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

She lifted herself from her belly, sat up, and looked around, turning 360 degrees to try and take in the full scene. The one thing she could see was that this place was vast. It seemed endless. No boundaries. And it was brightly lit and mostly colored in a faded red—a sort of dull pink—that she couldn’t identify.

She slowly rose to her feet.

“Am I dead?” she whispered.

“Where am I? What is this place?”

She wondered if she might be in Heaven or…the other place. 

She also noticed a weird sensation of neutrality—something she was very much not used to feeling in her life. It was like her head was empty, as if she had no thoughts! So, maybe this is Heaven, she pondered.

Surveying the vast space again, her eyes saw nothing in their view but a large door. Reluctantly, she slowly approached and then opened it. 

Immediately she noticed in nearly every direction: Thousands upon thousands of books.

They were stacked on hundreds of parallel bookcases.

As far as she could tell, all the books looked the same. They were all black, about a foot long, and an inch thick. And all hard-backs. It was like the world’s largest Encyclopedia collection.

As she walked closer, she also noticed their covers all had similar, big, boxy, white lettering, although she couldn’t yet tell what they read.

The books did not look like anything special, and yet she found herself inexplicably transfixed by them, drawn—so much so that she didn’t notice above each of the shelves the one thing that seemed to set them apart: a sort of numbered categorization.

She walked over to one of the shelves and picked one out and was surprised by how much heavier it felt than it looked.

She was so anxious to see what was inside that she immediately opened it to a random page.

“I need to blow my nose,” was the first line she read on the top of the page.

“Where’d I put the tissue?” the next line read.

“Oh, there it is,” the one after that.

She stood there for a moment, her face in a contorted expression.

“What is this?” she asked aloud.

She flipped to another page and began reading the middle of it.

“I can’t believe I missed the bus. Mom’s going to kill me,” it read.

“Hmm, how else can I get to school without asking her for a ride?”

“I guess I could try walking…”

It continued. “No, that would be too far.”

“Or would it?”

“I wonder if Shirlene’s gotten to school yet.”

“Shirlene…” Teri said aloud as she read the name.

Her still-contorted face gradually morphed into one of disbelief, her mouth parting into a full circle. Teri had known a Shirlene. She was her best friend in high school. And the name wasn’t exactly a “Mary” or “Chris” that you come across every day, so it definitely stood out.

She hurriedly flipped to the book’s cover and finally read the big white lettering.

Teresa Eileen Wiser. Tuesday, November 27, 2001.

She couldn’t believe it. This was her name—her full name. But why? What was this?

And she didn’t understand the date. What happened on November 27, 2001? She briefly wondered, still incredulous that her name was on the book.

She opened it again, to another random page—this time, towards the end.

“Go to sleep, Teri,” another random line read.

Teri’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe what she was reading.

“Go to sleep!” It continued.

“Go to sleep!!!”

“Stop thinking about that Christmas gift, Teri. Stop it.”

“Sigh.. I can’t believe I spent that much on it. I hope she likes it.”

“Mom hated what I got her for Christmas last year, and she never let me hear the end of it.”

“She’ll probably hate this, too, but sigh.. Hopefully not.”

She returned that book to the shelf, walked forward a few steps, and dove into another book. And another. And another. She wasn’t sure at first, but now she definitely knew: These were her thoughts. Every single last thought that she ever had during her lifetime, all neatly catalogued here as their own little unwilling autobiography.

And from what she could gather, the dates on the cover represented one full day of her thoughts. There was a book here for every single day that she had been alive. Every single “I can’t believe I woke up late”, to “Where’s the remote?”, to “Is it Friday yet?”, to “I wonder what Shirlene is up to?”

Every single thought, no matter how major or minor.

So she wondered, did that mean she was currently…in her mind?

It started to add up and seem that way, but she didn’t understand the point. Was this her Heaven? Or Hell? Would she be stuck here forever? Is this what the afterlife is like? You faced with all of your life’s thoughts…for the rest of eternity? That does actually kind of sound like Hell, now that I think about it.

What’s the point of it?

Teri walked over to another random book, this time from a younger year.

Teresa Eileen Wiser. Saturday, May 4, 1991.

She opened it.

“‘Work it out, den ne ne ne, just for me, de ne ne ne” a line read.

“Yes! I think that sounds good. Let me write that down.”

“Oh my gosh,” Teri exclaimed as her eyes traversed the familiar words. “My song I wrote!! Wow, I was only seven…”

She read on.

“I’ll love you forever, yes I will!” the words sang in Teri’s mind.

“Ohh yeah, that’s good,” 7-year-old Teri had affirmed for herself.

Teri smiled brightly, seeing her child self’s sweet thoughts of pure fun. She remembered she used to write songs, randomly. That she used to love to sing. She’d loved music. She used to tell anyone who would listen that she planned to one day be a singer/actress. That literally was how she would say it, too, when she’d share: “A singer-slash-actress.”

Teri flipped to another page—this time, to thoughts during one of her many outside adventures. She remembered there were so many. She loved being outside. She loved being a little daring.

“I wonder where this leads? We should go,” 7-year-old Teri had thought to herself.

“Yes! They’re coming with me,” excited she’d gotten her friends to join in on the fun.

The exploration continued.

“Wow, that tree is huge… I wonder if I could climb it…”

“I think I’m going to climb it…”

“Yeah, I’m going to climb it.”

And then, a bit later: “Oh my gosh! That was so fun… I can’t wait to do it again”

Teri spent hours looking through this and other books of her childhood, alone.

She was reminded how she used to doodle cool drawings when she found herself bored in class. How she had a whole several major storylines—a soap opera of sorts— with her Barbie and Ken dolls and their supporting cast. How she would imagine aspects of their lives that she hoped would be hers one day, when she grew up.

Teri was showered in a fresh warmth she hadn’t felt in years. She found herself smiling brightly, sweetly, innocently, like she’d often done as a kid. She felt the innocence of that time. The hope. The promise and possibility of life and the world. The feeling that nearly anything was possible. She felt it. She believed it, just as she had as a kid, and it was one of the most freeing and enriching feelings she had ever experienced.

Still beaming brightly, her eyes began to well and then pour—her tears, so sweet instead of salty.

This. This was what she had lost, she thought. This was what she was missing all of these years.

Where had it gone?

She remembered she used to write and read, for fun… She used to climb trees without hesitation… And explore unfamiliar lands. During the summers, she practically lived in the pool. She’d go swimming from sun up to sun down. She used to build and invent things. Create things. Arts, crafts, jewelry, and more.

She used to laugh, a lot. Used to smile a lot. She used to love thinking, being creative. Using her imagination. Having fun. She used to create whole worlds in her mind and live there for a while. Sometimes, she would bring her friends in the neighborhood in on the fun, sometimes she would enjoy it by herself. Sometimes, she would write the worlds down on paper or sing about them. Other times, she was fine living them out in her head. 

And friends. She used to have friends. Real friends. Friends who enjoyed her and the ideas she came up with—all the ways she was creative and quirky and adventurous.

She wanted to find true love. To travel the world, to buy a house one day, to write a book. She longed to learn a few languages, to adopt a few dogs — maybe even a cat. For a long time, she even wanted her own pet monkey!

That was how Little Teri dreamed. That was what Little Teri thought life was capable of.

Reeling from the happy thoughts of her childhood, Teri reluctantly picked up a book from one of her more recent years.

Teresa Eileen Wiser. Wednesday, September 4, 2019.

“I gotta get gas,” read the first thought her eyes landed on.

“Don’t run out, don’t run out…”

Teri flipped to another page.

“Ugh. Why in the world did I say that?” was where she landed. Here we go.

“That was so stupid,” the thought continued.

“Ugh.. I can’t believe I said that..”

“Ugh, they probably think I’m so dumb.”

These thoughts went on this way…for a while.

Teri almost thought it had to be an error. No way she thought this same kind of thing…so repeatedly. It was almost nonstop, broken up only by the mundane tasks of the day—going to the bathroom, taking a shower, deciding to watch TV, and so on.

Teri flipped to another page. It was more of the same.

“Sigh.. Of course that didn’t work.”

“I’m sure I did it wrong…”

Maybe that just was a particularly bad day, she thought.

She walked over and grabbed a book from a year later.

Teresa Eileen Wiser. Monday, June 7, 2021.

She turned to a page that seemed to be the middle of a work day.

“I bet he’s only talking to me to be nice. Why else would he?”

“They’re probably talking about me”

“They probably hate my outfit”

“Why did I even wear this? I look so fat!!”

She flipped to another page.

“Ugh, why am I so slow at this?” a line read and then continued.

“I bet everyone else is thinking about how slow I am.”

“Ugh, Teri, why are you so stupid? Why? WHY?!?!?”

“Damn, you’re slow. How did you not get that?!?”

“Oh my God. I honestly wouldn’t blame them if they fired you…”

Teri was overcome with an indescribable heaviness. Bullied by her own thoughts, it felt as if she had been buried by cement. She felt a profound darkness, an endless sadness, deep hurt and anger. The feeling was almost too much. Her eyes welled again, but this time, they were not sweet tears. Her tears felt like fire. They poured down her cheeks aggressively. The feeling was so intense, it was as if even her tears felt it.

She couldn’t couldn’t believe what she’d been saying to herself all those years. Why would anyone speak to anyone like that, let alone themselves?

How could anyone be so cruel?

She noticed how incredibly limiting her thinking had become, especially compared to when she was a kid. Back then, she had thought and dreamt big, open, endless, and colorfully. As an adult, her thinking had become bland, routine, rigid, self-doubting, self-deprecating, and even paranoid. Just generally negative.

She saw how much she had been having these kinds of thoughts and for how long.

No wonder I was ready for it to all end.

Teri wondered where those kinds of voices had come from. She deduced some of it might have come from just life and growing up. But some were so specific, she figured they had to originate from something else.

She thought about her mom and the kinds of criticizing things she had always said to and around her. Teri had always been closer to her dad, but she didn’t get to see him much after the divorce. 

She thought about some of the bullies she’d had over the years… and the few people she’d thought were friends but would only ever have negative things to say to and about her. She thought about the teachers and, later, managers she’d had who often doubted her or picked on her for no reason.

Those were the voices. The voices that eventually became my voices. My voice.

Teri felt a sort of sadness for her adult self. The amount of pressure, scrutiny—even from within, and an impossible reality she’d had to live in and for so long.

She saw and remembered in her younger self her innate brilliance. Her creativity. Her ingenuity. Her resilience. Her self-love and self-praise…as a kid. She’d had it in her, once…before life got a hold of her.

But reading those thoughts—being so close to them again made them real again. Made them achievable. Gave her something to strive for—to want to be. She longed to be the brave, brilliant, and bubbly girl who lived in the moment, never feared the unknown, and lived by her own, wonderful rules. She longed to be her child self again.

The longing for it—the desire—was so strong. And yet, she was jolted back to the reality that she likely will never be able to, since she had completed her final act.

“Jim, I’m telling you,” an older feminine voice suddenly blared through what sounded like loud speakers in this vast building she was in, “she’s going to pull through…”

Teri looked around, trying to see where it was coming from.

“Mom?” she said softly.

“I hope you’re right, Janet,” replied an older male voice through the same loud speakers. She wouldn’t miss that voice anywhere.

“Dad!!” She shouted loudly.

“Teri?” the male voice answered back.

“Dad! You can hear me?”

“Oh my God, Teri. Shhh, it’s okay. Yes, we can hear you honey. Janet, go get a doctor!!”

“I told you she’d come through, Jim,” her mom said, matter-of-factly and under her breath: “The girl couldn’t even kill herself right.”

“Janet!!” her dad scolded. 

As their voices became louder and clearer, her nose began picking up the scent of rubbing alcohol, bandages, and, faintly, cleaning chemicals. 

She felt the heat of the bright, white hospital lights against her eyelids, their luminosity trying to break through.

And finally, her eyes popped open and immediately began to adjust to the new brightness.