There's been a dead man living in my apartment

There's been a dead man living in my apartment for nearly 6 weeks. He doesn't say much, but I know he's there. The signs are subtle -- you just have to know how to look for them. Truthfully, I've been trying hard to see them, through squinted eyes, while half asleep. Sometimes I see something out of the corner of my eye. That's usually the first sign. It was somewhat a relief when I started noticing the little things out of place: the sliding door open when I'd left it closed, the closet door closed when I'd left for work in a rush and hadn't shut it.

I'm not sure what it's like to be a dead man living in someone else's apartment. It's not like he makes a mess or anything, but I'd prefer it if he'd give indications he's been by that are at least more helpful. Like cleaning the litter box or doing the dishes. But he never does those things. Like I said, I don't know what it's like to be dead, so I 'm not sure if there are choices. Is haunting like a salad bar of sorts? A combo platter?

"I'll take a few rustling noises, several scratches inside the walls, some doors opening and shutting. Oh and a side of dishes and one litter box cleaning. Thanks."

Of course, it's also a little scary. Makes it hard for sleeping. I'm half dreading that he'll show up and want to talk to me and I can't decide if I'm keeping him away by staying awake or not. I don't want to be startled by him and do something stupid and scream, scaring him away. I try and keep my eyes open as long as possible, despite my exhaustion. Plus I'm not sure if he's likely to crawl into bed with me. Do the dead need to sleep at all? Or do they sleep during the day, like vampires, and putter all evening, watching over us as we sleep and catching up on late night television? I'm hoping they don't get the munchies late at night because I rarely have any food in my apartment. There's tea, of course. He could always make himself a cup of tea. Not that tea was ever his style. Maybe I should keep some beer in the fridge.

I'm thinking about moving and that makes me sad, because I don't think he can come with me. I'm not worried about him. I've heard that he's been living in lots of places. He won't be homeless. I must be worried about me.

I haven't talked to him for almost a week now. I usually talk to him on Wednesdays, the day I see my therapist, because I'm home early and alone for a few hours before it gets dark. My walls are down on Wednesdays and can't protect me and I am sad and vulnerable and very bruised and little less likely to feel stupid talking to the empty air around me. A little more likely to feel his presence heavy like humidity. Sometimes I talk to him through my tears because it's hard to say the words without crying.

When I am alone in my apartment, I feel him pushing at me so strongly to acknowledge him that I get scared and run away, sleeping in someone else's bed, strong arms keeping him at bay. More than once, I have said to him, through the closed door of my apartment as I turn the key, locking him in, that I can't do this. I cannot do this.

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