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.


They Were Just Like Us

“Did you cry again last night?” she asked, her eyes peering at her from behind those oval glasses. She was sitting on the other side of the table, in her nice, grey business suit, calmly writing down anything Sara would say.

“I cried more than just last night,” Sara said, sounding ashamed, looking down at her hands, cuffs around her wrists, “I cry multiple times a day now it seems. Not even just, like, what I used to do, but full on sobbing now. It’s awful. I feel so disgusted everytime.”

“It’s understandable,” she said, “It’s a natural feeling most have in your situation when faced with feelings they’d rather not be faced with. Any other feelings you’ve been having lately that you think I should know about?”

“…anger. I’ve been so angry at myself for being this way,” Sara mumbled, her brow furrowing, her nails digging into her pant leg, “If I hadn’t been this way, things would’ve been different. I would be out there and not in here. I would have a life. I’ve been feeling jealous too, jealous of the people who can control this so easily. How do they do it? Why don’t they have these problems?”

“Again, all understandable emotions to be feeling,” she said, before putting her pen down on the table with the clipboard and sitting up straighter, cupping her hands on the table and smiling at Sara, “Miss Meakes…you’ve been in here now for…I think it’s been almost 4 and 1/2 months now, yes? Do you want to be out there? Do you want to be like us?”

“I…don’t know, and that’s the worst part, I…I feel like I don’t because feeling these things makes me so unique…I’m different. Of course, being different is what’s got me locked away from everyone, but…haven’t you ever wanted to feel this way?” Sara asked, forcing a confused look scamper across the womans face for a moment.


“Haven’t you ever wanted to feel this way?” Sara repeated herself.

“God no, not at all. No, it’s so much easier being the way I am, the way we all are. I admit that sometimes when I read about the past, about how you need to be able to feel a certain thing to comprehend a piece of classic art, literature, what have you, that I do on occasion wish I could feel that way for a brief moment, if only to understand the piece better…but in the end, it isn’t worth it. These things, they’re what made our world so bad. They’re what caused all the pain and suffering. No, things…things are better now, believe me.”

“…I think the worst is feeling love. I love my parents, but I know full well they don’t love me,” Sara said, “Because they can’t, not because they wouldn’t if they could. I understand the difference. It still hurts though. I wish they could.”

A timer on the womans watch beeped, and she looked at it, then collected her things and stood up, Sara doing the same. She reached over the table and shook Sara’s hand and smiled.

“Thank you Miss Meakes. I will see you again in a month, and we’ll pick up from there, and I do hope things change for you,” she said, before turning and heading out of the white room, leaving Sara alone again. As she exited, she found a man standing by the exit, waiting for her, eating an apple. He was dressed just as she was, same casual business attire, same boring expression on his face.

“So?” he asked.

“She’s not going anywhere for a while. If anything, it’s getting worse,” she said, “I wish I could feel bad for her. I wish I could, so I could really understand how much she’s hurting, but I just don’t.”

“It’s better you don’t,” the man said, and she nodded.

“I know that, but still…sometimes I think about what it’d be like to feel these things. To feel love, anger, sadness. To have emotions. These poor people, kept away from the rest of the cold, emotionless world, all because they feel what we once considered basic human emotions. What they have was once considered normal. Human. Now they’re different. ‘Unique’. But I know it’s better this way, I do know that.”

“Come on,” the man said, finishing the apple and tossing it into a garbage can, “Let’s go file this, we have other cases to get to.”

As they left, the woman glanced over her shoulder and saw Miss Meakes being taken from the room by her handler, presumably back to her cell. When their eyes connected, Sara smiled at her, and for one fleeting second, the woman swore she felt good inside.

Like what you’ve read? I have other fiction on this blog. Just check out the “fiction” tab! Or, if you wanna see more content from me, maybe help me out by donating to me here? Be greatly appreciated!


Once More Around The Sun

Today is my birthday.

When I was a little girl, I never dreamed I’d live past being 10. Then it got pushed up to 20. Then 30. Granted, while I’m only turning 28, I’ve learned a few things. The first is to stop counting upwards using only increments of 10’s, and secondly that for as long as I can put off ending my life, I might just make it further in life. I’m not happy, don’t mistake what I’m saying for growth, cause it’s not, but what I am saying is that for some people, existence isn’t a struggle. They enjoy being alive, at least on a base human level, enjoy seeing friends, having their families, getting jobs, having relationships, etc. But for others, it’s a struggle, and for me it’s an absolute slog. So, other people go through life, sometimes having a midlife crisis or so along the way, until they finally reach their 80s and die. Meanwhile, I’m actively bored of existing, yet because there’s such a stigma surrounding suicide, shaming people who simply don’t want to hurt anymore, and also because I’m always constantly in the middle of something (a movie, laundry, writing this blog post you’re reading), I keep having to put off killing myself.

Now, people may take that and go “Well, that indecision means you really don’t want to do it then!” and while I respect everyones right to their opinion, no, they’re wrong and they should shut up. Did they make this diagnosis from the comfort of their bedroom doctors desk chair? You don’t know me, or what I’ve been through or how I feel. I WANT to die. I do. I just keep having shit come up that has to be taken care of, and I’m not one to flake on responsibilities and abandon projects. In essence, my perfectionism is extending my life sentence, and yes I say life sentence and not life span, because much like prison, I didn’t ask to be here and I certainly want it to be over with. Now, I’ve written a blog post in the past about how if you can come up with things to do like “I can’t kill myself until this tv show is over” or “I can’t end my life until I feed my dog” then you can keep yourself from dying, but this isn’t that.

This is about literally being so busy to never have time to die. People complain all the time about being ‘so busy’. Every single college student will tell you that, that they’re ‘so busy’, like getting up at 11 is so hard when they forget that they used to get up at 7 to go to high school. People stay busy with jobs, with social lives, with hobbies. Everywhere you look, at any given point, somebody is doin’ something. They’re reading a book, or riding a bike or watching a movie or having dinner with friends or going on dates or working until closing, or, yes, being in school. Everyone has a constricted schedule in which what they want to do often takes a backseat to what they have to do. In my case, the thing that keeps getting pushed back is killing myself, and it doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it. Just like those other people, it doesn’t mean they don’t want to take the weekend off for themselves and try and learn a new language or see the new action flick, they just don’t have the time or the energy, and let’s face it, killing yourself takes a lot of effort. My preference has always been to hang myself, but then I gotta get a rope so I gotta probably go to the hardware store and buy a rope and then learn to tie a knot good enough that it won’t come undone, and then find somewhere to hang myself, find a surface high enough that it’ll kill me when I’m not standing on it anymore. I mean, by the time I got to the actual act of hanging myself, I’m wasted half my fuckin’ day just prepping, and that’s without a note! Honestly, who’s got the fuckin’ time?

So, this is just what’s working for me. I hope those who are struggling also continue, as I don’t want anyone else to die. I just personally don’t wanna be alive, but I am, and I’m working with the hand I’ve been dealt. So let’s go for one more round universe, take me around the sun another time.