Kate’s Blog: Stay Classy, San Diego


By Kate Alvarez
Jan. 11, 2013

99 days later, I haven’t woken up from this nightmare, which means it really did happen. Little reminders of this reality stab my heart everyday—his empty bedroom, his unread emails piling up in his Yahoo inbox, his personal possessions that are slowly being given away, while the remaining ones are gathering dust.

99 days later, I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind. I talk to him all the time—in my head, out loud in his bedroom, in whispers when I don’t think anyone is listening, in my journal, up towards the sky when no one is looking, and in prayers.


99 days later, I’ve gone from insomniac to hypersomniac. The sleep that once eluded me for weeks now drowns me mockingly. But no matter how much sleep I get, I am always tired.

99 days later, I know who my real friends are—those who have gone out of their way to truly be there for me and Anton’s family. Although I’ve always known who had my back, there are a few people that surprised me. Thank you. You know who you are.

99 days later, I live simpler. I avoid events, places, and people that I believe are just a waste of my time and vice versa. One thing I’ve learned is that life is short, so you should make the best of your life by filling it with things that you truly like and love, and cutting out the unnecessary things that just weigh you down.

99 days later, new projects, endeavors, and career opportunities are being thrown in my direction. It’s as if God, Mother Nature, Lady Luck, or whoever screwed up with my fate is suddenly making up for all the blood and tears I shed by handing me the things that I used to just dream of and struggle for. I would give them all up—and more—in a heartbeat just to have Anton back.


99 days later, I’m more sensitive when it comes to the topic of depression and suicide. Whenever I encounter people talking about suicide based on narrow-minded logic and stereotypes, I go on fight-or-flight response. I ask myself, “Do I want to discuss factual psychological studies with this caveman or am I simply wasting my time?” The other day I met a guy who said that he wouldn’t bother stopping a friend from completing suicide because it’s what would make that person happy. I clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and changed the topic. I remember Anton would always say, “Stay classy, San Diego!

99 days later, I’m still grieving. The overwhelming sadness comes when I least expect it—in the middle of the night, in a restaurant with strangers, or in public places where I should hold back my tears to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

99 days later, I’m still here—still breathing, sleeping, waking, drinking coffee, eating my favorite chocolates, playing with my dogs, working, reading, and writing. But I’m not alive. I simply… exist.