I’m turning 30 in six days.
I’m not scared of aging. As much as the concept of eventual nonexistence may make me slightly unnerved, I’m actually not scared of aging. I have an entirely different problem, and that’s that I didn’t expect to live to be 30, and now I don’t know what to do with my life, and I’m having an ever ongoing mid life crisis. I remember sitting in my room as a little girl, or even a teenager, and thinking “wow, I probably won’t live past 20”. Then I hit my twenties, and I was like, “well, okay…guess I should do something with my time”. So I did what I’d always done. I made art. I wrote books. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years and nobody really cares and I’m never going to be successful at it, but it’s kept me going, despite the feeling that I don’t want to live to see another birthday every year.
But then something happened. Suddenly creation wasn’t enough to keep me around, or interested in sticking around to see it finished. See, I used to believe that if I start something, I had to see it through to the end, and that because that might take a while, it would keep me alive for a longer time. That was how I managed to stick around. But now I’m not caring anymore. The one thing I’ve sunk my entire life into isn’t yielding results, financial or otherwise, and I don’t care anymore. It no longer does anything for me. I struggle to come up with comics, or write stories, and at this point, I no longer care if I see a project through to its end. But…but, because I’ve done this for so long, because it’s such a part of me, I can’t just stop, so I have to keep doing it, which keeps me alive, despite the fact that I really no longer want to be alive.
I thought I was getting better. I really did. For the last 4 years or so I’ve used this blog to sift through my emotional and mental states and work on them, work on the things that traumatized me and so on, and move on to a healthier body and state of mind. But now I’m going to be 30 in six days, and…
…I really don’t care anymore. And that’s scary. Your birthday is supposed to be a celebration of the fact that you survived another year, but for me, it’s a reminder that I’ve survived another year, when I really don’t want to. I’m in a lot of trouble, guys. I recognize that, at least. If something doesn’t change, drastically change, and soon, I may not have enough of a reason to stick around anymore. I need to see some sort of return investment from the thing I’ve sunk my life into for it to be worth it at this point, and not even monetarily, but just even knowing people SEE it and ENJOY it would be enough. But I doubt that’ll happen. Everyone just ignores me. Even my “friends” don’t respond to me anymore. Oh they see my messages, my e-mails, whatever, but they don’t respond. Friends I’ve had for years, yeah, they don’t respond anymore. And I can’t blame them, either. I wouldn’t respond to me either.
…happy birthday to me, I guess.
I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!