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My Handyman Died

It’s been a hell of a month.

I just found out the other day, after a month of not seeing him and nobody telling us anything, that the handyman who used to work for the house my girlfriend and I rent in, died of a heart attack. His name was Tim. This has fucked with me on a number of levels, so allow me to go through them, if you will. First of all, I am somewhat shocked that the death of a man I only sort of kinda barely knew could make me weep as hard and often as I have the last week and a half. The last time I saw Tim was when he came over and mowed our front lawn. He brought his sweetheart of a Pitbull with him, and I sat with his dog on the porch as he mowed the lawn and took breaks so we could talk. It’s not that Tim was very educated, in fact when once engaged in conversation with my girlfriend he admitted he didn’t even know who Van Gogh was, but that didn’t make him stupid. It wasn’t that he was super interesting, either. He was just…nice. I guess the fact that I cared so much for a man I knew so little proves the point of how big my heart actually is, and how much kindness can really make you care for someone.

Secondly, Tims death makes me think about my own mortality. Not that I’m going to die anytime soon, at least not that I know of, someone could be waiting to assassinate me, I have no idea, but just in the general sense, you know? I deal with suicidal thoughts often, I constantly have panic attacks about non existence, and yet…yet when faced with death so near to me, it sort of halts all of that. It’s been a while since someone died in my family, especially someone I actually gave a big shit about, but it’s also different than that. This is the first time a FRIEND of mine has died. Family is different. I don’t know how or why, maybe it’s because you’re born to that set of people or something, but death in the family just has a different tone to it. But a friend…a friend is someone you seek out or choose to know. They’re someone you enjoy being around and so you want to be around them more and more. I met Tim out of necessity because he helped us move in and fix things around the house and such, but…he was my friend. Even if I admit to not knowing him all that well, he WAS my friend, and now he’s just a dead guy.

Apparently Tim died alone. I mean, he had his dog with him, but he died alone, in his apartment, from a heart attack. A friend is someone you’re supposed to be there for, and I couldn’t be there for Tim when he needed someone, and that’s been fucking with me too. I don’t know that I could’ve done anything even if I had been there, I mean he obviously couldn’t even dial 911 in time to get help, but the fact remains that I couldn’t be there for my friend when he needed someone, and that….fucking….hurts, man. It hurts bad. I’ve lost many friends, but mostly because they either weren’t my friends to begin with, we simply drifted apart, or whatever reason you wanna apply to it. But to lose a friend to death…it’s just not something I’m familiar with and I don’t know how to cope with it. And what’s worse is it’s GOING TO KEEP HAPPENING. As I get older, the people I consider close friends are going to fucking die, and a lot of them may die before me, and I am not prepared for that.

I am not prepared for anything, honestly.

For Tims sake, I hope it wasn’t that painful or that long, and I hope he knows people cared about him, even if we didn’t outright say it. I hope he knows that he had friends, because everyone deserves friends. Everyone deserves to feel like they aren’t alone.

I’ll miss you Tim.

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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”, 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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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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Birds My Father Hated: Episode 10 “Conservation”

In the 1st season finale, Mavis finally discusses her father in depth, leading to a rather revealing confession.

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 61st Minute: Change

It’s been a while since the original first video, but here’s a new video (along with a series name change)! If you like this work and want to see more, original content then go throw some cash at me over at my Patreon so I can buy a nice camera and some arts and crafts supplies for more videos!

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 #27

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Created, Written & Drawn by Maggie Taylor

This weeks “Close To Monsters” is brought to you by the fact that you’re expendable. Wanna write your own caption for this comic? 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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So Utterly “Tragic”

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This isn’t a fun comic. I am in so much fucking pain. There’s no joke here.

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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”, 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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Rotten

I have come to a decision.

There is something rotten inside of me, that cannot be fixed. No matter the work, no matter the length of time spent on it, the effort put into it, it cannot be fixed. I am rotten, deep inside of myself, and it’s just something I am going to have to live with. People will try and tell me otherwise, say things like “You’re not rotten, you’re just hard on yourself!” but no, rest assured, I am rotten. Some part of me, deep, deep down inside, is rotten and will continue to rot for the rest of my life. The sooner I come to terms with and accept that, the sooner I can move on perhaps.

To clarify, this rot doesn’t make me do anything. It doesn’t make hurt myself or hate other people, it doesn’t make me have terrible impulses or anything like that. No. It’s simply something that I can feel inside of me, that I know shouldn’t be there, that I know not everyone else has, if anyone else, and that makes me sick in certain ways and makes me look at the world in certain ways. This rot had to start somewhere, but where exactly is increasingly hard to pinpoint. I could blame my parents for it, but that’s become drawn out and tired, even if not at all untrue. Could blame all the people who’ve hurt me, but then others would come to their aide, screeching “But you need to take responsibility!”

I need to take responsibility for how shitty other people treated me, via their own decision to do so? Okay. Sure.

Do I want the rot fixed? Probably not. It’s how I know to cope and survive. The rot is a part of me. Sounds sick to say, but it’s true, and I am no longer in the vein of saying things that aren’t sick, because that’s what I am. Sick. Sick and rotten. Part of it I’m sure can be attributed to the fact that when enough people tell you for a long enough period of time that something is wrong with you, that you’ll believe something is wrong with you. Weird, right? Almost like peoples opinions on you has an effect or something. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to what anyone thinks about you!” As if it’s that fucking easy. You’re not rotten. What I am sincerely tired of, however, is being told I’m not rotten. People who aren’t me, who don’t have to deal with my problems on a day to day basis making computer desk medical analysis of a person they don’t even fucking know. You aren’t me. Stop fucking tell me what you think I am or how you think I work.

And stop telling me things will get better. There’s a difference between betterment and false hope. I’ve accepted that things will, in fact, not get better. I accepted that a long time ago, and accepting that reality doesn’t make me a weaker person. It makes me accepting of my limits and capabilities, forcing me to focus on the things I can actually achieve or accomplish. No. Things will never “get better”, but they may, with a little bit of acceptance and effort, become “ok”, and I’m fine with that. Stop trying to get me to believe things will get better, because when you do, you’re only instilling in me this false sense of security in the future that, when it never comes, as it never does no matter how hard I work or try, only makes me more crestfallen that before you instilled said false sense of security. Got it?

I am rotten, and I am at peace with myself being this way.

And I wouldn’t have it any other fucking way.

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!