My upstairs neighbour, the mentally broken one who had a panic attack, then ran away, is back home.
He was found, as I've already said, and taken to hospital, where he was treated, physically and psychiatrically, (I do believe that's a proper word) and came home late this afternoon. I didn't see him arrive, but I assume a carer brought him.
Anyway, about a half hour ago, he knocked on my door, to thank me, to apologise for the trouble, to let me know he was clean and well and no longer believing people were after him. Vastly different from the broken wreck who was escorted back upstairs by the police that Saturday.
That's a big relief, I'd thought he might have been too broken to recover.
I have to say, after medications, daily hospital baths and good food, he looks a different man. His skin is actually pink instead of the grey it usually is.
He wished me Merry Christmas and handed me a small box of chocolates, then went back upstairs.
I hope he is going to stay okay, I hope there are carers who will come and check on him, see that he eats and washes, like the carers who come to check on the very ill P a couple of times a week, and the district nurses who come twice a day to check on diabetic P.