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Paper Vehicles

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, crafted from suicide letters and private notes

I wrote the things I couldn’t say and I rode them away; secrets and dreams, whispers and screams, pleas from within and at the end of the day

I crashed them into mountain ranges and sailed into raging storms, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, folded from birthday cards and family photos

I took the things I could remember and I used them to escape; photos turned to sails, cards turned to wings, knowing I’d fail at each of these things

I crashed them into corn fields and sailed into coastlines, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean, I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Fake vehicles for fake people, structured from unwritten nobels and sketchbook drawings

I took the things I once cherished and I captained them to ends; books became jet engines and art became anchors, destroying my things as I destroyed my self

I crashed them into buildings and sailed into whirlpools, knowing full well they’d destroy me

I sailed a paper boat into the ocean and I flew a paper airplane into the sun

Not to escape who I had been, but to escape who I’d become

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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The Dead Tooth Society

This may be a bit impersonal, but hey, what’s a little impersonality (is that even a word?) among strangers on the internet. Ever since I was a little girl, I was told to brush my teeth, much like most of you, I’m assuming, were also told. And for a good long while I did just this, I brushed my teeth every single night and morning. Then, sometime around age 10 or 11, I just…stopped. I just cold turkey stopped brushing my teeth. Because of this, I am now nearly 30 and my teeth are in awful shape. I have begun brushing them again, and it’s helped a bit, but the damage is done. And when I say “awful shape”, I mean they’re crooked (not that brushing your teeth helps that any), slightly yellow and pockmarked, and my bottom right molar flat out cracked about two years ago and has had a hole in it ever since, thus making it basically unusable if I want to eat on that side of my mouth. It rarely hurts, but still.

In hindsight, I think a lot of my rash decision in stopping brushing my teeth was because I wanted to, in the long run, hurt myself. This is a little weird to me because, for a long time, I never thought about my life “in the long run”, as I sort of expected to kill myself when I was, oh, 20 or so. Obviously that didn’t happen, not that I didn’t try, lord knows, but I’m still, sadly, here. But I guess, as I said, in hindsight, what I was trying to do was hurt myself in more ways than one. I didn’t see myself necessarily as something or someone worth taking care of and keeping around. I had a weird situation with my teeth as it was as a little girl, because my mouth was too small, and I had too many teeth, like some sort of sideshow sharkgirl or something. I had to have a surgery when I was about 9 or so and have a lot of them extracted so that my new teeth could come in regularly, which they pretty much did, thank god.

I’m telling you all this because, well, for one, I apparently don’t believe in anything like “too much information”, but also because I want to drive home a point about depression. People often talk about depression in ways like ‘it’s not just laying in bed or crying in the shower, it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it out to be! it can be as simple as just not eating a whole day’ and while I agree with this statement, I also think it goes beyond THAT. I think it even extends to things unconsciously that you do to yourself, like me and for whatever reason deciding to stop brushing my teeth, which I know recognize in retrospect as being a way to hurt myself. I succeeded, I must admit. There’s nothing I’m better at than taking bad care of myself. It’s a gift, really. But yeah, it’s a lot of subconscious things as well, especially in regards to hygiene. I know a lot of depressed people who say depression zaps them of their energy to even be able to bathe, and I’ve experienced that as well. Nowhere near as bad as others or nowhere near as bad as failing to take care of my teeth, but still.

It may be too late for my teeth, it may not be, but I’ve decided it’s not too late for me. Teeth can be replaced. I can’t be. Sometimes to save your whole self, you have to sacrifice a part of you.

DTS Image

image created via Maggie Taylor

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I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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There’s A Bridge Near My House

There’s a bridge near my house. It overlooks the railroad tracks.

I’ve never had a bridge nearby before, so it’s been a weird thing to adjust to, being so close to something I could so easily walk to and throw myself off of. As someone who’s tried to kill herself, and often debated whether or not to try again, it’s almost like tempting fate to live right around the block from something that could so easily achieve that goal. Now, I’m not saying I’m going to go right out and throw myself off this bridge. I’m just saying that it’s strange to have something that closely related to my suicidal feelings that close by, and somehow have the strength to continually never use it, despite always waking up in the morning wishing I hadn’t woken up in the morning.

I’ve said numerous times that one of, if not the only, thing that helps regarding suicidal thoughts is that it stems from a place of control when I have none. It’s something I have complete and total control of deciding to do and carrying out, accomplishing that goal. When you have no control in any other aspect of your life, it’s almost an uplifting reminder that yes, you do have control over something. But that’s all it is, the illusion of control. You WON’T go through with it, but you COULD go through with it. The bridge merely exemplifies this. Before I’d have to get a rope to hang myself with or buy a bunch of sleeping pills to overdose on, but now, here’s an option, so easily within my grasp! It’s literally around the block from my house! How could it be made any easier for me? But just because it’s easier doesn’t mean it’s the right course of action, and that’s what I have to remind myself of. Just because it’s something I could do, doesn’t mean it’s something I should do.

Honestly, I try to avoid walking across that bridge if I can. It’s not hard, as there’s sidewalks underneath on both sides of the street, so it’s not like the bridge is something I absolutely have to cross to get somewhere. But even then, unless I am unable to, I try to avoid crossing it by all means because simply being up on there makes it all the more tempting to jump off. It’s the allure of the concept. But the bravest thing I do every single day isn’t not taking that option, it’s admitting that I could take it. See, so many people always say “it’s so brave to fight with yourself every single day when you want to die!” but honestly, no, for me, it’s even more brave to admit that I want to die and could die at any given moment if I chose to do so. Admitting my mortality, and my hand in achieving the end of it, is the bravest thing I can do, because what it does is force me to admit, “Well, if I can kill myself, who says I can’t keep on living?”

To face both options, one more easy than the other, and instead choose the harder one, that’s not bravery. Not for me anyway. That’s just common sense. That’s just beating out the darkness that consumes my brain. But to admit I COULD kill myself, that I COULD end it all, to face that bleak reality head on and THEN instead walk the other way? That, to me, is what I do every day that is brave. Admitting I want to die, that I could die, accepting that reality, is my bravery. Bravery varies for everyone. I’m not saying it’s not brave for someone to continue living instead of dying, because sure, for a lot of people, that’s bravery too. But for me, on my personal level, what’s brave is admitting that I could stop it all right now. That it’s that goddamned simple and I have that much control over it. That I embrace that reality is what’s brave for me, instead of denying it to myself and instead forcing myself to smile day in and day out while feeling like a trash fire is burning inside of me.

So yeah. There’s a bridge near my house. It overlooks the railroad tracks.

Sometimes I walk on it. Most of the time I don’t.

But I will never jump from it. Because, fuck, that’d just be too easy, and why the hell should things start getting easy just when I decide to quit.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Close To Monsters #48

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This weeks comic is brought to you by the fact that nature, while pleasant, won’t cure your depression.

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!  Visit My Online Store!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I’ve done, like my 2015 novel “You Ruined Everything”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my feed over at Ello. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip , buy prints/stickers and more at my online store on Big Cartel, or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Milly & The Ghost: A Novel

https://payhip.com/b/1rui

A novel I wrote in 2016 is finally available, just in time for Halloween! Just kidding, it’s not spooky. It WILL make you cry though.

(2016) Milly Barnes is 11 years old and just lost her mother. After she tries hurting herself, her father becomes worried for her mental health, but she quickly finds solace in a new friend at school named Velma, a young artist named Chad, and a ghost living in her house named Milton, who says he just wants to help her. MILLY & THE GHOST is a story about losing what was the most important thing in your life, and doing whatever is necessary to keep moving forward, even if it means believing in something others might not. (53k words)
Anyway, there ya go. I’d be VERY appreciative if you bought/read this book. I’m also running a special over at my Patreon right now where if you sign up for the $5 dollar and up tier, you will receive a 10% off coupon for the book, plus other goodies! Anyway, enjoy!

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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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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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Celia Drowns In The Basement

technologiesShe’d shut and locked the door at the top of the stairs, but thinking now, it was a good thing this basement had been basically set up as a bomb shelter in the 50s, because locking the goddamned door wouldn’t do much good alone. Celia then started to walk downstairs, and put a chair in the center of the room and walked around it a few times, taking in the basement, in all its glory.

God, the things that had happened in this basement, a perfect example of the age old sentiment “if walls could talk”, because damn, the stories they would tell. Memories flooded her mind instantly, which made her smile at the irony of the euphemism. There was the time she and her older sister had hidden down here from their father after her older sister had hit the bumper of his car with her bike, and they were afraid he’d be mad, but in the end, he was just happy they were okay and told them to come to him and never be afraid. Her mind turned to the time she and Ashley Mossica got together and played a bunch of low fi cassette tapes in the basement at max volume because they had the house to themselves…god that weekend. The taste of her strawberry lipstick, how she had to hide the stains left behind by the kisses on her neck with a scarf, which thankfully worked considering it was snowing outside, and nobody questioned her clothing choices. The way that, the night of high school graduation, while her sister went to dinner with their parents, she and Ashley decided to stay in the basement and lay on the couch together, discussing plans for the future. None of which ever came true.

Now though…what had once been an escapist dream was now just an old, ratty basement in a home that could no longer sustain it. She’d since dropped out of college and been unable to afford her medications, and since her parents had discovered that she’d been seeing a woman from her support group. So much for parents loving you no matter what. Her parents hadn’t kept the basement up to snuff, and it had fallen into a state of disrepair, but now….now it’d be more than just that. She’d see to that. Sure, the rest of the house would remain fine, but this room would always and forever be Celia Armak’s. She sighed, grabbed an axe and started cutting into the old rusted pipes in the basement walls, which started to flood the room. Celia then sat down in the chair, strapped her legs to the chair legs with rope and cuffed her hands with an old pair of handcuffs after she’d put a blindfold on. She smiled, listening to the water as it began to fill the room and soak her shoes and socks, and climbing ever higher every second.

This basement, the games with her sister, the derby car projects with her father, the dance lessons with her mother, the first kisses, the loss of virginity, the first suicide attempt before college…yes, this room was her entire history, her entire life. The water quickly rose to her neck, and she craned her head back to give herself a few more seconds of breath, thinking about Ashley, thinking of all the promises they’d made to one another, all the things she’d planned to do with her life; go to college and become a famous clothing designer, maybe eventually do costume work for films…but not now. No. The water overtook her, and the chair was floating, as was she, still strapped to it. Her head was getting lighter, her thoughts foggier, her breathing tighter, and soon she was thrashing violently, and before she knew it, she was at peace, and soon Celia wasn’t thinking anything at all anymore.

“You can have the house,” she’d thought as she’d set this up, “But the fucking basement is mine.”

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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!