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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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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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All My Friends Are Broken People

I didn’t mean for this to happen, but it occurred to me the other day that every single person I’m friends with is broken in some way or another.

I am friends with people who had abusive parents, who were in abusive relationships, who have severe depression, anxiety, trauma, PSTD, you name it. Now, obviously, with this generation, this isn’t so surprising. We’re all pretty fucked up, and unlike previous generations, we’re actually admitting it, and, again unlike previous generations, a lot of us are actually actively working on getting better. But this is different. I seek out broken people. I find the most broken people that I can and I take them under my wing, and I make sure they know they have someone who cares about them and is always available to talk if they need someone.

The way I see it, these are the people who are most likely to understand or appreciate me. But I often forget you cannot understand or appreciate someone for their problems unless you yourself face those same problems. They can have a vague, general understanding, but unless they were in my head, dealing with my psychological time displacement and horrible thoughts of self pain and hatred, they won’t ever really get me. But, while we may not be able to truly understand one another, we at least attempt. We embrace. We do not turn away. I am looking to help people not feel so alone, because I’ve been so alone, and it is awful.

But this goes beyond all that. I’ve covered that before. I’ve talked at length about how I seek out people to befriend so they don’t have to feel as lonely as I’ve felt. That’s boring, familiar territory, and I don’t want to tread it yet again. That’s why I say this goes beyond all that, because to me, broken people, really broken people, are the most normal of us all. We recognize our weaknesses instead of denying them, even if said weaknesses are what’s keeping us broken, and we are ecstatic when good things come our way because they so rarely do. We are the most in tune with ourselves, our emotions, and everything. We are the most human of the humans that I have ever known.

I am not saying this to say one type of person is better than another. Please don’t try and think that’s what I’m getting at here, because it’s not. All I’m saying is that it is nice to have people like myself. Broken people. Because we admit we’re broken, and too many don’t, and if only more would, they may be able to change what they don’t like and really focus on getting to be the best them they could be. They’re so scared of admitting defeat or showing signs of weakness, that they hide behind this ever present perpetual myth of “everything is fine” with a laugh and a smile and selfie, and yet if they could just be broken, admit they’re broken, in some way or some form for a little bit of time, they may just like who they could really be.

Maybe I’m wrong. It’s possible. I can be wrong about all kinds of stuff. But what I’m saying is there’s no shame in your brokenness, in your weakness, in your sadness. There is no shame in you.

You are broken.

You are beautiful.

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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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!

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Birds My Father Hated: Episode 7 “Parrots”

In this episode, Mavis remembers her speech tutor, and more importantly, her speech tutors parrot, and how they changed her life for the better. If you like this podcast, want to support it or help me make more like it in the future, then go support my Patreon, where for a buck a month, you can have access to next weeks episode right now!

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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Check Engine Light

There’s something wrong inside of me. There’s a small, flashing, orange light telling me something is wrong, but it’s a vague thought, something is strong and eating at my rot. It’s hard to pinpoint what is the problem, since every part of me is falling into disrepair, why should I care, there’s no gas in the tank, and the tire? No spare. My headlights are blinking, they’re dimming softly, no longer lighting up the way that they used to. The roads ahead of me are dark, I can no longer park in garages and take time to unwind and catch my breath.

The leather interior, the one people once lauded, the one that when new was first applauded, is now torn and weathered from wear and pain. The wind and the rain hasn’t been kind to the paint job, it’s been repainted time and time again; a new color, but the mechanical problems remain the same. My gears don’t shift the way they should, there’s smoke pooling out from under the hood, and my rear view mirrors can no longer see the potential dangers around them. Instead I find myself rear ending everything in sight, cracking bumpers, breaking head lights.

A mechanic? You jest. Someone in tan pants and a grey vest who could potentially fix the problems? I bet. Someone to take one look and know I’m upset, to write down on paper what’s needed to ‘fix’ me, who sees different problems than I see, who reads the owners manual differently. A little tune up, that’s what they said it would take, this is what’s at stake. Check the oil, the mileage, see that I’m not running the way I should be. The dashboard lights come on intermittently. I’m one skid mark away from a fatal crash, one blowout away from a brutal smash. The tires are worn, and I’m weaving in and out of traffic and I’m not wearing a seatbelt.

Check the engine light.

I need help.

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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Survival Of The Spiteful

I have developed the absolute best mindset to how to go on, day by day, and that is to hate existence so much that I need to survive simply to spite it for putting me here in the first place; to show existence that I’m better than it is. I fucking hate life. I hate that I have to endure it. I hate that it was thrust upon me without any decision on my part, and now I just am expected to live through it, because to do the opposite is “selfish” or “cowardly” (hot take, they’re not), but now I’m realizing that my best weapon available to me in fighting to continue onwards is to show life what a prick it is.

Spite. Spite is what’s kept me going. Spiting the people who were mean to me growing up, the people who hurt me that I loved, the bad experiences that made me the bitter, cynical broken bitch that I am. I’m not staying alive because I enjoy it, I’m staying alive to prove to life, and these people, that guess what, you’re not better than me. I don’t make a whole lot of money, but despite that I’m still doing what I love for a living (writing, making art, etc), which is more than most people can say. I followed my dreams and they ruined me, but I’m doing it, and that’s something I can applaud myself for. It’s hard to find things to hopeful about, but you know what I realized? Not only am I working on showing life I’m better than it, but I’m also working towards an overall end goal: the eventuality of my death!

Having goals is important, that’s a thing your facebook friends who share posts from pages like “Moms Against Cynicism” say, right? Try and have a bright outlook, set some goals and achieve them? Well now I am. I’m actively working towards eventually dying of old age, and when I reach it, I will feel so good about having stayed alive long enough to have achieved it! Sometimes the seemingly bleakest outlook can be spun into the most hopelessly positive one after all.

Listen, it’s the healthiest coping mechanism I’ve got, alright?

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!