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I’ve Got Too Many Teeth

Maybe I’ve talked about this before, maybe I haven’t, but when I was a little girl, I had an enormous oral surgery. I must’ve been in elementary school, maybe 9 or 10 years old, and they had to do surgery because as it turned out, I had too many teeth in my head. The teeth that were supposed to be replacing my baby teeth couldn’t come in because I had too many baby teeth and they weren’t coming out, or something along those lines. Listen, I was knocked out for the surgery and I’m not a fuckin’ doctor so don’t ask me about specifics. I just remember it happening, alright.

Anyway, my point is, I have a hole in my tooth. It’s in the back side of my lower right jaw. It came from eating something, and while it doesn’t really hurt except once a month or so, I recognize I should get it looked at at some point, when I have money, so, in other words, never. It doesn’t really bother me, like I said, and I often run my tongue over the hole for fun. I think a good reason it happened was because I almost exclusively, throughout my life, had chewed with the right side of my jaw. I also used to chew a lot of ice when I was a teenager. I don’t have any explanation, okay. Sorry. Anyway, I believe the tooth was just eventually worn down and cracked.

So, why am I telling you this horribly weird factoid about my oral hygiene?

Because this hole in my tooth simply acts as yet another form of imperfection. It’s not even one people can see, but it’s something that I know is wrong with me, and my imperfections are keeping me alive because I’m working on fixing them. The way I see it, if I’m going to kill myself, I’m going to do it only once I’m perfect, thanks to being a perfectionist, but because perfection isn’t actually attainable, I’ll stay alive as long as I can trying to make myself as close to “perfect” as I can be. It keeps me going, because of my absolute need to be as perfect as possible. If I’m going to be a corpse at some point, I’m going to be the most goddamned beautiful corpse there is. Is this a healthy coping method? Of course not, but then again, has any of the shit I’ve told you here been?

A few nights ago, when I was feeling particularly bad, I got it into my head that I didn’t want my hands anymore. That I would actually function better if I no longer had hands. I would never do anything to myself like, oh, cut off my hands, but for some reason that became a thought I became attached to suddenly for an entire night. Why? Who the fuck knows. I just know that the following morning, I felt fine and thought it was ridiculous that I actually clung to that concept. I’ve read about Body Integrity Identity Disorder before, but this isn’t a thing I usually think about, so I definitely don’t have that by any means. I just know that for a little bit one evening, I thought I’d be better off without hands. Am I actively now looking for ways to make myself worse so I can find things to fix about myself?

Who knows. All I know is that sometimes my tooth hurts and I hate existing.

For a good while, I kept my teeth from that surgery in a small, plastic cup in a blue liquid that they gave me at the hospital. I probably still have it somewhere. Sometimes, for show and tell, I would bring it in and show it off, because that’s the kind of kid I was. Sometimes I’d even pretend they weren’t my teeth, and were just somebody else’s teeth that I’d found like this, because, again, that’s the kind of kid I was. I am obsessed with imperfection, because it’s my imperfections that keep me striving to better myself. How about that. The most unhealthy parts of me are forcing me to fix myself and be healthier.

Take from that what you want.

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 satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US”, my podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality”, or my writing over at Medium. You can also donate to my PayPal or support my work at Patreon, where you’ll get access to patron only content and new content early, all for as cheap as a buck a month! Thanks for reading!

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You Exist To Buy Sneakers

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Drawn & written by Maggie Taylor

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 satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US”, my podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality”, or my writing over at Medium. You can also donate to my PayPal or support my work at Patreon, where you’ll get access to patron only content and new content early, all for as cheap as a buck a month! Thanks for reading!

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Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality: Episode 2 “Your Failures & Flaws”

So here’s episode 2 of my podcast, I hope you all enjoy it! In this episode, Samantha tries to get USER 147 to move past some of their worst personal issues. For those unaware, you can get each episode a week early on my Patreon, which means people who support me over there get access to episode 3 tomorrow too!

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 satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US” or my writing over at Medium. You can also donate to my PayPal or support my work at Patreon, where you’ll get access to patron only content and new content early, all for as cheap as a buck a month! Thanks for reading!

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A Traveling Mind

I fashioned a boat, and set sail to be free, left my pressures behind and became a new me. But it didn’t last long, sure the first week was fine, but soon I had found what had been plaguing my mind. They were things I can’t sail from, things I had scorned, things that I soon found that I’d mourn. Sure, sailing is fine, but you can’t run from your mind, no matter how far you go, it’s not far behind.

So I fixed a car, and drove off with no cares, left behind gossip and rumors and stares. At first it was nice, being alone on the street, forgetting your failures and denying defeat. But try as I might, I knew it can’t last, my tires were shot and running short on gas. You can put up a stop sign, you can drive through the night, but it won’t stop insecurities, it won’t stop your plights.

So I bought a plane, I flew into the skies, away from the pressures, away from the lies. I soared through the clouds, I flew with the birds, ignoring those taunts and all their cruel words. The engines were weak, the landing gear broke, this whole idea had turned into a joke. I was forced to land, my trip was a bust, my reasons were flawed and my feelings unjust.

I tried to sail, to drive and to fly, but it didn’t matter which one I’d try; you can’t run away from the problems you have, the things they have said, their opinions of you rattling ’round in your head. Try as you might, you can’t shake the pain, the thoughts that it brings will drive you insane. So if you can’t run, then what do you do? How do you run from your problem when the problem is you?

Hey. I’m Maggie. Like this thing I did? Then you might like other things I do! You can read my depressing webcomic, “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry” or check out my work at Medium. You can also donate to my girlfriend and mines PayPal if you so wish. Anything you give would be greatly appreciated and go towards helping us pay rent and get groceries. Thanks for reading!

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I Hate The Sound Of Your Voice

It’s amazing how easily you can forget someones voice.

I spent a lot of years with people, be them step-siblings, pretend friends or family members, and yet…yet I cannot recall a single voice for so many of them. Some of these are people I spent so much time with, a number of years close to, and still…I can picture their faces clear as day, but their voices…it’s impossible for me to recall them. Perhaps it’s because humans are more visual than auditory creatures, that would be one reason at least, but I still think it’s interesting because some of them were people I did care about. If this was just happening to people who hurt me, people I hated, people I wanted to forget, that’d be one thing. Blocking them out so I could move on. I’d accept that. But this happens to people I loved, like my grandparents. Ex girlfriends. It just confuses me is all.

But maybe I’ve just got a rather shitty memory. I mean, I obviously can remember some things with perfect clarity, like rooms, but when it comes to other things, I can’t seem to even remember what I ate yesterday. The thing is, I can remember songs with no problems, I can recite entire film scripts from memory, I can recall whole podcasts after listening to them a few times, but when it comes to just voices, and only voices from people I’ve known, I can’t remember a single one if I’m not still interacting with them on an audio day to day basis. The worst part is that I hate my own voice, so being online for as long as I’ve been since the AOL days, texting, chatrooms and more all are a godsend to me. If I don’t have to listen to myself, I will feel so much happier. Why do I hate my own voice? Well, part of it’s because I wish it sounded more feminine, but also because for as long as I can remember, people have been telling me to shut up, be quiet, or some variation of those sentiments. Because of that, I feel like if I open my mouth, it’ll somehow anger somebody somewhere.

What really sucks is the people I love the most are the voices I can no longer remember, and the people who’ve hurt me are the voices I still hear to this day, like my mother or the friend I lost this past summer. It’s like my brain has been conditioned to believe that I deserve to suffer and feel uncomfortable, partly because people have told me that I deserve to suffer and be uncomfortable, so those are the voices it does remember. But the people whos voices I want to remember? My grandmother? Old, close friends? No bueno, senorita. No. I must, at all times, acknowledge those who’ve hurt me, even if they aren’t hurting me anymore. I think, the only positive I can parse from this, is that my brain does this so I don’t let my guard down. So I go, “Ok, I remember how poorly I’ve been treated, and I am not letting myself be treated that way anymore by anyone again.” That’s the only conclusion I can come to that has a happy ending to it.

So I don’t remember the voices of those who loved me, those I cared about. But…sometimes, when I dream, I see them, and I hear them, and it’s like they’re there again, and for a little while, I feel okay again.

Like this post? Then you might like some of my other stuff, like my depressing space webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry” or my new site “Sad Party”, where I encourage people to share how badly they feel so others can not feel so alone. If you like this stuff, you could also maybe donate to my SquareCash. It’d be greatly appreciated. Thanks!