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Close To Monsters #37

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This weeks comic is brought to you by not even being able to live up to somebody elses dreams

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, the new season of my podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality”, or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Close To Monsters #30

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This weeks comic is brought to you by the fact that you are nothing but an amalgamation of all your parents flaws and problems.

Wanna write your own caption for this comic strip? Then head on over to my Patreon, where for a mere 25 dollars a month, you not only get all the previous rewards, but also get the write a caption for one of these, and get credited for it!

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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This One Goes Out To You

Wanna hear quite possibly the most ironic thing of all time?

When I was a little girl, my mother used to play a lot of music in the house and in the car. I have to give my mother some credit for exposing me to a lot of media and helping widen my knowledge of pop culture, especially when it comes to music, so. One day, the song “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns ‘N Roses came on, and I can’t remember where we were or what the situation was, but I distinctly recall her saying to me:

This was the song your father and I picked for you. This is your song.

If you’ve read my blog, and you know anything about my parents, my childhood, my relationship with my family or anything pertaining to that, you’d recognize this statement as full on fucking hilarious. Like, Emmy Award Winning Best Writing in a Comedy Series type of hilarious because it evokes so much foreshadowing and irony that nothing beats it. My parents are NOT the kind of people who believe in the lyrics portrayed in this song.

My mother, back in the day, was fairly okay. It wasn’t until she really got re-married when I was about 8 and started living with a psychologically abusive stepdad that she took a turn for the worse. There was a time when she was rather enjoyable and loving, but that all quickly changed and now, no matter how much she swears up and down she has changed, I cannot believe a word of it because I’ve been at the firing line firsthand. My father has never cared about me, at least not outside the abstract sense. He cares that someone exists who will carry on his last name (Taylor is not actually my last name), but seeing as I’m infertile, there’s hilarity in that as well. He has rarely reached out to talk since I was a young adult and often left me wildly depressed and disappointed as a little girl. I was usually nothing more than a bargaining chip between the two of them growing up, especially for my father, and it’s taught me to be extremely wary of people in general when they say they care for me.

When you dedicate a song to someone, you do it because you honestly, genuinely believe that song encapsulates how you feel towards the person you’re dedicating it to. We’ve all heard it said, that couple that goes, “Oh, this is OUR song!”. The song they play at their wedding, that they had on the radio on their first date or something. That one tune. But to dedicate a song, especially one as ultimately schmaltzy as “Sweet Child O’ Mine”, to your newborn daughter and then turn around and abuse her for years to come is completely insulting to the entire concept of dedicating songs to people. I mean, imagine taking lyrics like this:

I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain

and turning right around and inflicting that pain on your own child. You hate to see an ounce of pain? Then stop fucking hurting me. I know. I know. Every kid grows up to hate their parents and eventually realizes how much they loved them and blah blah blah. No. Some kids actually grew up in a broken fucking home. My home might’ve been lavish and we might’ve had money, but that didn’t make it any less goddamned broken, alright? My parents often fought about me right in front of my bedroom door so I’d feel bad, they often allowed my stepsiblings to make fun of me openly without defending me one bit, they often made fun of me THEMSELVES, which was hilarious, given that I actually put in the effort to get to know my stepfather and we shared more of the same common interests than his own children shared with him, and yet he STILL treated me poorly. Gee, I wonder why I don’t get close to people anymore? Hey, Maggie, why don’t you open up and let people in? Because if my body is a temple, then you fuckers are here to desecrate it.

…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get that emotional. I’m just sometimes in utter awe at the fact that people can be that two faced. That deceptive, especially to themselves about themselves. I was a scared, somewhat challenged little girl. All I wanted was a mom and a dad, any dad, who loved me. Who believed in me. Who supported me. Who wanted to be with me. You know what the end result in this is? By dedicating that song to me, and then not following through on loving me themselves, sometimes it feels like Guns ‘N Roses loved me more because, oh, it’s MY song. Think about that. I’m a 28 year old woman now, and I have a more parental connection to a fucking 80s rock ballad than to my own paternal figures. How is that ok.

I am nobodies sweet child.

Especially not yours, mom and dad.

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Baggage Claim: A Short Story

yoursite.tumblr.comJunes short story is now available to buy! Here’s a description:

When a woman dies trying to get her luggage off the carousel, everyone is held up even longer. Eventually, only two people remain; a young woman named Carmen and a young gay man named Eric, both of whom quickly come to realize they have a lot more in common than they ever could’ve imagined. BAGGAGE CLAIM is about creating a family when you have none, and looking to the least likely people to be the most important in your life.

So yeah, I think this is a pretty strong one, so check it out please? I’d be greatly appreciative! Also, for the rest of the month, ALL my works (aside from this because it’s brand new) at Payhip are 50% off with this coupon (MF5ZI9W2EX) for pride month! Support your favorite local broken lesbian! Thanks!

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Close To Monsters #26

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Created, Written & Drawn by Maggie Taylor

This weeks “Close To Monsters” is brought to you by the fact that your parents are quick to only ever point out your cons and never your pros.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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What Is Wrong With You? #2

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For each comic a week early, subscribe to my Patreon!

Buy My Book!                Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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The Death Of Your Make Believe Friend

What exactly happens to our brains that makes us lose our imagination and wonderment? When we’re children, we can play make believe all day, live in pretend lands and be so much more open and perceptive to ideas. So what exactly is it that kills that? And don’t be a smartass and say “age” or some stupid bullshit, because I guarantee it’s not that. There’s plenty of adults who are still imaginative and such, so it’s definitely not getting older that does it. Personally, I think it’s other people that does it. Others start to make fun of you or say you’re being childish (what? a child being childish?! oh no!) and so you start to adhere to what “growing up” means, leaving behind all the things that brought you joy, happiness and comfort.

I think of all the deaths you have to endure in life, the worst has to be your own childhoods.

The death of your adolescence is weird because it isn’t one that you actively recognize is happening. One day you just sort of stop doing the things you’ve always loved doing. I remember when I was a little girl I’d play with my toys in my room or the backyard, making entire stories and plotlines that carried through day after day, and then one day I decided, because someone told me I was getting too old to be doing so, that I wasn’t going to do it that day. That one day became another day, and another day, and another day and so on and so forth until soon I hadn’t touched my toys in ages. Thankfully, being the anal retentive weirdo I am, I did go back and finish the “story” that had played out over the years for my own closure, but after that…never again. The thing that made me happy, the things that kept me company, I just tossed aside like they’d never given me anything at all, all because someone told me I was getting “too old”. I was 11.

I think that’s why I became a writer, more than anything else, is because I still get to play with characters and story, just in a “mature, adult” way. Bullshit. The thing is, because I was no longer allowed to play pretend, I turned myself into a character, and did horrible things to myself on purpose for the guise of being interesting, and viewed the abuse and trauma I went through as my “prologue”. I was a very sick child, who’s become a slightly less sick adult, and all because I was told to stop expressing myself at a certain age, because society thinks it’s “weird”. Because of this, I no have no idea what I am, or didn’t for the longest time. Only in the last few years have I started to even try and decide who I am, and think of myself more as an actual person and not just a character in a very depressing soap opera. We need to start letting kids stay creative and imaginative and stop squashing their open minds. We need to stop turning happy kids into unhappy adults.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t have an imaginary friend. A lot of kids did, but I never did. The reason is because I couldn’t have real friends, so why would an imaginary one want to be my friend?

Buy My Book!                Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!