As any depressed person, I have once (well … just for the sake of being fair I’ll say two, but that’s the best I can do) imagined how the world would be like if I wasn’t around anymore. If I just disappeared in the skies, if my skin just faded in the mourning dawn, or burnt in the sunset, or froze in the mist of a snowstorm. Being as it may, if I simply wasn’t here any longer, like in It’s a Wonderful Life. However, I wouldn’t have never existed, I would just leave this world, alongside all the memories anyone has ever had of me. I can picture my landlord opening the door of my room, looking over my messy bed and the piles of clothes in the laundry basket that have been waiting to be folded for so long that they might as well be rewashed. I can see him thinking, “Who the hell used to live in this litter?” as he goes through my stuff. He’d find old bags of chips halfway eaten, books with pages missing, chargers with ripped wires … but most importantly, he’d open my tiny closet and find the three only pieces of clothing that were luxurious enough to be hanged. Right in the middle they’d see a worn-out black jacket with tiny holes on the sleeves and a loose hood that clearly had been stitched together with the rest of it. He’d see MY jacket and just dump it in the closest dumpster.