Who Am I, Really? A Sleepless Night and a Lifetime of Questions

“Do you hear that? Mark! The music, again! It’s three in the morning!”

I jabbed my elbow hard into Mark’s side. He groaned, his face half-buried in the pillow, and mumbled, “Cass, I was finally asleep. Why do you keep waking me up? I have a delivery route tomorrow.”

“I don’t care!” I hissed. “We’ve talked to them five times. We’ve called the landlord. I can’t take it anymore!”

He rolled over, rubbing his eyes. “Just ignore them. They’ll stop soon. Please, Cassie, just let me sleep.”

But their laughter crashed through the ceiling, thumping bass shaking picture frames so hard it sounded like glass was about to rain down on us. I stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars we’d stuck to the ceiling after moving in, hoping they’d make this place feel magical. Now they just looked childish.

I sat up, rage and exhaustion making my hands shake. “If you won’t do it, I will.”

“Fine,” he muttered, already drifting back to sleep. “Just don’t start a war.”

I threw on my robe and stomped out to the hallway. The apartment building smelled like old pizza and cheap weed. I pounded on 4B’s door, my fists echoing down the corridor. The music cut, replaced by giggles. The door swung open, revealing Brittany—twenty-four, bleach-blonde, always in crop tops and yoga pants.

“Oh, hey, Cassie! Sorry, is it too loud?” she slurred.

“Yes, Brittany. It’s three. Some of us have jobs.”

She blinked. “We’ll, like, turn it down. Sorry.”

I glared until she closed the door. When I got back, Mark was snoring. I climbed into bed, tears stinging my eyes.

I lay there, heart pounding, staring at Mark’s broad back. I used to think of him as an anchor, but lately, he felt more like a weight. I buried my face in the pillow and tried not to cry too loud.

The next morning, Mark was already gone. On the fridge, his scrawled note: “Sorry about last night. Love you. Breakfast in the microwave.”

I stared at my reflection in the window, the skyline blurred with rain. My phone buzzed: a reminder for my 9 AM Zoom. I teach English online to kids in China—a job I took after COVID when the school let me go. I make faces into a webcam for hours while Mark drives a truck for UPS. Every day blends into the next.

After my last class, I called my mom. She answered on the third ring, excitement in her voice. “Cassie! Did you see your cousin’s engagement post?”

I tried to sound happy. “Yeah, Mom. Looks like a big ring.”

“She’s your age, you know. Already got a house in the suburbs. When are you and Mark going to think about kids?”

I bit my lip. “We’re just…busy, Mom.”

“You’re almost thirty-four, Cassie. Don’t wait forever.”

I hung up and stood at the kitchen window. Outside, the city looked gray and endless. I watched a little girl in a yellow raincoat splash in a puddle and felt something twist in my chest.

Mark came home late, smelling like diesel and sweat. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and dropped onto the couch, rubbing his temples.

“Rough day?” I asked, trying to sound gentle.

He grunted. “Some guy screamed at me because his package was late. My back is killing me. And yeah, I heard from the landlord—they won’t do anything about Brittany. Says they’re ‘good tenants.’”

I sat next to him, picking at my nails. “Mark, are you happy here?”

He looked at me, surprised. “Here? With you? Or in Chicago?”

“Either. Both. I don’t know. I just… I feel stuck. I feel like we’re just surviving. Remember when we used to dream about opening a bookstore, or moving to Seattle?”

He smiled, tired. “Yeah. But dreams don’t pay rent, Cass. Not anymore.”

I felt tears prick my eyes again. “What if this is all there is? What if I’m just… someone who complains to the neighbors and teaches kids on Zoom?”

He pulled me into a hug, but I felt how far away he was, even as his arms wrapped around me.

That night, the music started up again. I didn’t even bother waking Mark. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every choice that brought me here. If I had taken that job in Denver. If we hadn’t lost so much when the pandemic hit. If we had tried for a baby, like my mom wanted. If, if, if.

The next morning, I found myself in front of 4B again, but I didn’t knock. I just listened—really listened—to the laughter, the shouting, the music. They sounded so alive. And I realized I was angry not just at them, but at myself. For letting go of who I used to be. For settling.

That night, I sat next to Mark on the couch and told him, “I want more.”

He looked at me, eyes wide. “More what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I need to find out.”

He squeezed my hand, silent. The city hummed outside, the music from above drifting down like a dare.

So I ask you—have you ever felt like a stranger in your own life? Like you’re watching someone else’s story play out? What would it take for you to wake up and change everything?