On Moving On…


I don’t remember much of last winter. I was too buried in grief colder than any squall. The sharp bite of bitter wind was a welcome distraction from the sickness of my heart.

I put all the things he gave me in the back of my closet, not brave enough to throw them in the trash but not bold enough to keep them around either. Like all bad memories, I hoped they would just fade away.

I found things enough to keep me busy during the days, but the nights were filled with inescapable loops of all the things I could have done better. Of all the things I might have done wrong.

I don’t remember the first day after January 7th that I didn’t see his face every time I closed my eyes, but it must have come. Yes, it must have. Because the sick sinking feeling in my chest now feels like a faded picture.

I grasped for anything that might save me. Desperately, I entered entropy and let the world devour me with new experiences. And yet only within myself did I finally find healing.

For a late blooming flower, I found that each bruise he gave me wilted my tender petals. But those scars will grow a stronger bud come spring. Every beautiful rose wonts to be plucked. And every summer they bloom again.

Moving on is all about compartmentalizing. The pain never goes away. You just box it up and bury it somewhere in your mind and try to think of better things to come.

Wishing stops working after a while, when you realize that people don’t work like shooting stars. They don’t fall on command, and they have pasts that they can never outrun.

I walked into something karmic, and fuck that’s unfortunate, because you were the start of my journey, and I was only a distraction from yours.

Sometimes I remember the way he rolled his eyes while I drove us home one December night, and in that moment I knew there was no saving this. And it took all my strength of will not to burst into tears as we ate our blue cheese burgers while we tried to think of something, anything to talk about.

Here’s some prose from last winter, about my broken heart and learning to move on after that.

Bad things happen in life, but we shouldn’t view those as negatives. We learn much more from pain than we do from success. And sometimes a broken heart is just what we need in order to transform our lives into everything we’ve ever dreamed of. So thank those who have taught you the tough lessons, and pray that they someday find the healing they need as well. Forgive them, and find peace.

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Take care, and don’t forget to take your medications!



In Case You Missed It | 2018 Blog Post Recap


As this year comes to a close, it is a perfect opportunity to look back at the progess we’ve all made and the things we have created. I have gone back through my blog and reread all of my posts. I am still in disbelief that I have been able to stick with it for so long! I’ve amassed over 62k words just in ten short months of blogging here at Antiquarius. Below is what I feel are some of my best posts. Some of the newer followers here may have missed some of these older posts.

Please give them a visit if they spark your interest!

The Benefits Of Daily Meditation



I Am



Loneliness In Adulthood


Things Become Okay



Productivity Tips



Bullet Journaling For Beginners



Forgive Yourself



How To Make A Motivation Board



If you have any posts you’d like to share from your own blog during the year of 2018, link them down below!

If you want to see more content from a twenty-something living her (moderately boring) life, be sure to follow or subscribe through email so that I can bug you at all hours of the day and night about stuff and things!

Take care, and don’t forget to take your medications!

The Holiday Pocket

Is anyone else aware of this weird calendrical phenomenon?

The Holiday Pocket refers to the span of time between Thanksgiving and New Years. During this time of year, things feel like pure magic. Magic, and chaos. The egregore of the holidays can be seen in all the frantic shoppers and stolen moments of pleasure that cannot be attained at any other time of year. Whether that means having a cup of hot chocolate after a grueling day of retail work (spiked with a few shots, of course), or making a crafty gift for your family members, this time of year is truly magical.

Maybe it’s the way the string lights glow in the 5pm darkness and how cozy your feet feel in your favorite pair of fuzzy slippers. Or maybe it’s the moment where you watch someone you love opening a gift you spent so much time hunting for or creating. No matter what it is, it always feels different during this time.

The world is magical. And if you’re lucky, you even get to see some snow before Christmas or Yule! It snowed today where I live. It was the pretty kind of snow that didn’t stick to the roads, but coated everything in a glistening white. The snowflakes floated through the air; weightless.

And then the New Years ball drops, you go to bed, and wake up to the ordinary life. The spell breaks. You go back to your places of work, where the decorations have already been taken down, and you try to struggle through the rest of winter without getting too sad.

But for those few short weeks, everything feels elevated. Everyone shares in the joy of the holidays with parties, good food, visits to old friends, and presents. We each celebrate in our own way as the days grow shorter and the darkness grows longer. For those few short weeks, everything feels special. I love this time of year!

Haiku Horizons | Weekly Prompt: “Smart”

I have decided to play with the meaning of the word “Smart” for these Haikus. My theme for both is femme fatale, the women with blood red lips and sharp eyes, high fashion and a bitter vendetta to seize the world by its jewels and never let go. Cheers to the badass bitches that take what they want and leave the rest sweating with nerves and desire.

4a : mentally alert : bright
b : knowledgeable
c : shrewd

He writhed in her stare

As if she could see his thoughts

Such a knowing look

6a : neat, trim
b : stylish or elegant in dress or appearance
c (1) : appealing to sophisticated tastes
(2) : characteristic of or patronized by fashionable society

Heels clacked on asphalt

Sharp and loud as bullet shots

Always dressed to kill

Haiku Horizons is a blog that hosts a weekly haiku prompt every Sunday. Visit their page to participate and write a haiku of your own.

Take care, and don’t forget to take your medications!

How dark is too dark?

For NaNoWriMo this year, I decided to start a horror story about a man who suffers a psychotic break and becomes a serial killer, but as I’m writing, a thought occurred to me. How dark is too dark?

Some writers excel at writing fantasy or non-fiction, or comedies, but I find that what I am best at writing is horror. Horror in all its gross, terrifying detail. The story started out innocently enough (or maybe not so innocently, but certainly not so disturbing) but the farther I uncover the events of my MC, the more I start to fear what I am writing. Am I taking this too far? Are readers going to put the book down if I continue writing in this manner? Are these gratuitous violence scenes unnecessary or worse…unwelcome? Will my writing inspire someone to do bad acts in real life? How do we separate fiction from reality? Will I be offending someone by writing this? I’m sure I will be offending someone, but will I be offending too many?

But it seems to be what I’m good at! Should I stop just because the story is going to very dark places? Just because dark fiction exists, does that mean it should continue to exist? I’m actually worried that my book will not only be rejected but that it will be hated. And the worst part is that I am not even halfway through writing it and I feel that it is already becoming too dark. I ultimately know where I want the story to end up, and I know it doesn’t getting any lighter. There is no redemption in the last few pages. There is nothing but darkness.