Years ago we lived above our landlord. He was from the Czech Republic, had long stringy hair, and wore nothing but a red velvety bathrobe all the time. He told us the day we moved in that his girlfriend had been killed in a murder-suicide. He apparently was very depressed about this--and rightfully so, of course. Sometimes in the middle of the night he would blare opera music and sob and curse so loudly we couldn't sleep.
It was so tragic, yet so bizarre. The apartment was great and we decided he was harmless. I would have stayed there except we had to move out of the area, though our upstairs neighbor was, by all appearances, a drug dealer.
At our next apartment, our neighbor lady had schizophrenia and I'm
pretty confident she was not taking any meds. She tried to never leave her apartment, and if she happened to see someone coming in the hallway, she would dart behind things to hide, or would turn around and go right back to her apartment. At night we could sometimes hear her yelling at her voices.
Now, several years removed, I feel guilty that I didn't try to help these people. Give them some phone numbers or something...Geez.
