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.

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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!


So Utterly “Tragic”


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

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!


Depression Cares #1


written/drawn by Maggie Taylor

It’s shocking sometimes how what makes you want to kill you can also feel like the only thing that really understands how you feel, even if it’s selfishly doing so to preserve its own existence. This illness is a parasite, and we are the host.

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!


Are You Happy?

Sorry I haven’t been posting here as often, I’ve just been very busy, somewhat with what I’m posting about right now.

This project will take a bit to get going, but here’s the first of a few pieces slowly trickling out to start. “How To Ruin Your Entire Life” are videos that, via different mediums and art styles, take a sincere, bleak look at depression and mental illness, and ask if they’re worth feeling that bad about. The first advert is titled “Are You Happy?”. You can find these over at the Vimeo page, or get each one (and more content) early by subscribing to my Patreon!

I hope you guys like this, as it was a bitch and a half to get finished, even with all the film editing skills I’ve managed to accrue over the years. I look forward to putting out more of this sort of thing. Enjoy!

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.

Wanna donate to me directly? You can do that via PayPal! Wanna support me ongoing month to month and get content early? You can do that via Patreon! Thanks for whatever you can spare, I really appreciate it!


Alpha & Omega

I can remember the first time I swam on my own. It was summer, during an afternoon swim camp at the YMCA that my mother had signed me up for to learn how to swim, and it was with this very nice young, blonde woman who really liked me and was very patient with me. I had a lot of trouble grasping things when I was a child, much more than other children, and swimming was a tough one especially because of the coordination involved, which I was and still am very poor with. I still cannot even tie my shoes, so that gives you some idea how bad I am at coordination. I remember feeling so good that I finally got it, that I finally figured out how to swim. I don’t swim anymore. I haven’t swam in years, actually. But I learned how, and that was great.

I can remember the first time I had sex. It was with a friend, and suddenly after one brief period of time spent together, we were closer than ever. We started chatting all the time, hanging out on video chat or texting, and watching movies online together. It was a very hard time for me, as my grandmother was getting exceptionally ill, and I didn’t really know who else to turn to. Then, one night I stayed at her place, and after watching a movie, we decided to go ahead and sleep together. It made me feel safe, and it made me feel loved. It was the first time I’d ever felt like that, and it was something I’d wanted for a long time. I can remember waking up the next morning and feeling like a different person. I know they say that it’s all in the mind, that virginity is a ‘social construct’ and all that, and that’s well and good, but for someone like me, who’s spent her life being shunned and rejected, it meant the world for someone to want me like that.

I can remember the first time I finished a really long book. It was 7th grade, and it was Stephen King’s “IT” which I managed to read in a week and a half, which is impressive considering it’s a thousand pages long. But the real reason this meant a lot to me was because, as I’ve talked about on this blog before, I had so much trouble learning how to read when I was little. To go from needing a private tutor in 2nd grade to finishing a thousand page horror novel in 7th grade…it was a real triumph for me, and made me feel so good about myself. Sure, I’d read the first few Harry Potter books, and those were long, but those were for the most part kids books at the time. I’d even read some Redwall books, and those were novels too, even as much as four hundred pages sometimes, but this…this was a real novel. I’d finally read a really big book, and I never felt better about my skill.

Obviously there’s firsts I can’t remember. First christmas, first tooth lost, things like that. I sort of remember learning to ride a bike, but not clearly enough that it warrants a section in this post. The sad thing is, these made me feel so good at the time. These were things I’d never accomplished, that I wanted to accomplish, and I finally managed to and I felt fantastic about it. But then, the firsts stop coming. There stop being firsts. I’d like to get married, have some kids, buy a house. The first kid. The first house. New firsts. But who knows what my future holds, or if I even have one. Who knows if I’ll ever experience another first again. The reason I think we so strongly hold onto the past, to the concept of nostalgia is because of the firsts. These made life exciting. These made it feel like we’d progressed. But, when you run out of firsts, you stagnate.

But even worse than realizing that I’m out of firsts, or may never experience a first again, is the realization that one day there’ll be a last. That one day will be the last day I wake up. The last day I read. The last day I eat. I try not to let this ruin the whole idea, I try to instead focus on the idea of firsts, but it’s hard when your brain is so conditioned to only think of endings and not continuations. I wonder what the last thing I’ll ever say will be. I wonder who will be the last person I say it to. I know, too, that one day will be the last time I post here. I don’t know when that day will be, but it’ll happen eventually.

And whereas firsts and lasts give bookends, checkpoints to life, things to move beyond. It’s that section in the middle, all the nothingness, that I can’t stand. That’s the part that bothers me most. That’s the part I want to end.

I’m Maggie. I’m a writer/artist. 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 podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality” . 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!


Happy Comic


These came about because I was sick of seeing wholly upbeat, positive comics that basically give the message “Only think positive”. To me, that seems like such a bad way to cope with the world. By ignoring your sadness, the negative, you’re only half of a person. You need to embrace them both, and thus “Happy Comic” was born out of spite. So, if you ever felt like my work was too dark and depressing, boy do I have a new comic strip to you!


The Unhappy Manifesto

Despite my best efforts to be a goody two shoes, perfectionist, law abiding young lady from the age of coherence to now, I’ve always apparently just been nothing more than inherently polarizing, without even realizing it was a bigger problem than I thought. I mean, I knew some people didn’t like me, hell I don’t even like me, so I get it, but I didn’t realize to that extent that they didn’t like me. However, after some very recent events this past summer, I know realize that to a lot of people, I’m just sorta not all that good I guess. The worst part is, I continue to be sorta not all that good to the people I most want to be hella all that good to, and it’s….it’s fucking heartbreaking.

I’m in no way ever trying to make myself sound like a perfect person, like someone who puts others before herself at all times or wants to gain the sympathy of complete and total strangers via a pity party blog she runs on the internet, but I do want it made clear that I at least try and do good by others. Because of how I’ve been treated by pretty much everyone throughout my life, I go really out of my way to be nice to those I let get even remotely close to me. I’m so closed up, that even the ones who think they know me rarely now me as well as they think they do. A few years ago, I told an ex girlfriend of mine something, and her response was “I never would’ve known that!”. Be aware, this is a girl I spent about 9 years being close friends with and then spent a year romantically involved with, and yet even she “never would’ve known that”, in regards to what I just told her. So, I try and be the best to the people I really care about, try to be genuinely nice to the people I don’t even know all that well and still try and retain an identity not at all known by anyone at all. It’s a tough life, y’all.

And yet, despite all of this, despite my best efforts, I am not a “liked” person, because even the people who I’ve known for years don’t know me that well and the others, the ones who have claimed to love me and want nothing more than my happiness (like the people I mentioned from this past summer earlier in the post), end up not really meaning that. I am not important. I am expendable. I am not good enough. I am polarizing. So, okay, I’m trying to work with that. For so long I wanted to please. I wanted to make my parents proud despite their obvious disinterest in my actual well being as a person, and I would try to reconnect with people I used to know who cut me off out of nowhere without saying a word, who I thought I mattered to. I wanted to make people love me. I wanted to create things people would be happy about. Now I’m trying desperately not to care as much. I’m trying to be ok with not being ok enough.

So I’m polarizing. Alright then. I’ll learn to work with that. The people who really do like me like me and that should be good enough. The problem is that you’re never sure who those people really are. You think you have a good idea, but…but people are so goddamned two faced. Now, with the advent of social media and online profiles, we as actual people, are nothing. Our profiles are everything. That’s the best of us distilled down to our successes, our triumphs, our goodness, and I don’t want to be one of those people who say “technology is bad!” because it isn’t. It’s helped created friendships I only could’ve once dreamed about, but to so many, I am just “that girl with the depressing blog” and not a real person, but I am real, and I do care. People may see me as polarizing, and, well, that’s on them. But I see me as I really am. I really do try and really do care. And even to the people who hurt me, to the people in my past, my parents, the people from this summer…I understand. We’re imperfect creatures. I don’t blame you anymore. We are who we are. If you find me polarizing, I might find you transparent and abusive, but I guess that’s just who we are, and only we alone can decide if we want to work on who we are. It has taken me two decades to get here, but, I know now that I am more than the sum of your opinions of me.

Reach out to me. Get to know me. I want to create a community out of sadness. I want to build a home from despair. Trying to be perfect got me nowhere, but accepting my imperfections have gotten me so far. Be polarizing. We can do it together.

I believe in us, flaws and all.

Hello. My name is Maggie. I make things, for you and for my own survival. If you like this stuff I made, you might like some of my other stuff, like my depressing space webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, and the site where I ask others to say how bad they feel to help others feel better, “Sad Party”. Check it out. Hit me up. Let’s be miserable together.

ADDENDUM: I am aware that a new “This Won’t Hurt A Bit: Memoirs From A Post Medical World” was supposed to come out Monday, October 23rd, but alas that could not happen. I apologize and it will return next Monday. Thank you for understanding.