Yup, still “in the downs” here. I wrote about my Thanksgiving last week and relations between my children are slightly better. Slightly.

But I still don’t think I have real depression. I have mild anger and disgust, and sometimes feel a little sorry for myself but that’s about it. Not like my next-door neighbor.

Apparently while I was sitting here alone for days pining away for what should be, he was literally rotting away in his bathroom.

I know, right?

Last Wednesday an officer was beating on his door for quite some time before knocking politely on mine. I was asked if I knew the resident next door and when was the last time I’d seen him. Well, the week before was the last time I’d paid any attention to what was going on in the neighborhood, sorry. I knew his name was T— and he drove a little white car (which was here) but I couldn’t say the last time I noticed him coming or going.

Thursday I already covered and Friday night I went to dinner and a movie (Hunger Games – Catching Fire!) with Max and Krystal while Ginnie was stuck at my house cleaning. I noticed a bad smell when I got home but I have an incredibly sensitive nose for a smoker. She commented about the smell saying she couldn’t figure it out and had cleaned my bathroom spic-n-span and it still smelled bad. Was it mold/mildew from when I had that inner wall water leak a few weeks back? It only got worse.

Cut to Saturday mid-morning and the cops were back. And then the medical examiner and the CSI truck. I was interviewed by an officer again but I had little to add. My memory is crappy when I am paying attention. They eventually wheeled poor T— out and left. But by then the smell was so bad I started thinking about other places to go for a while. My whole apartment reeked.

I hear from management that he’d recently lost his job and I hear from another neighbor that his divorce was particularly bitter. I know he had a girlfriend for a bit but maybe she left too.

I cannot imagine being so depressed I’d take my own life. Oh, I joke about it sometimes and if I ever decided to I’d drive off a cliff to do it. There are plenty of cliffs nearby. I wouldn’t leave behind something ugly my kids could find. I’d get my affairs in order, pay my bills and leave detailed instructions, so I figure I’m too organized and controlling to suffer something so emotional in the first place. I’d probably do it for practical reasons.

Yes, I’m a horrible person. I find the whole thing only slightly creepy but way more amusing. Like I can imaging an overhead shot, bird’s eye view of me here puttering around doing little while T— is sprawled in his bathtub decomposing. Like a scene from CSI. Think about the timeline. He was in there since at least Wednesday morning when he didn’t answer the door.

I know the correct way of thinking is to feel sympathy for someone with a mental illness bad enough to take their own life, but my inner bitch just thinks it’s weakness. It’s the worst form of narcissism to end your life in a bathtub. Life isn’t about you, it’s about what you do for others. Life is hard so that we appreciate the good times. So times aren’t good right now, people are out of work, medical issues abound, kids are fighting, etc. We work through it for those special moments of joy and happiness that are bound to come up.

Honestly I do feel a little bad that T— wasn’t up for the challenge. Now he’ll never know that life gets better.