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I’m glad everyone got such a kick out of yesterday’s recap of TequilaCon. I’m still way behind on feeds, but I will get to everyone eventually. I also have a ton of new blogs to add to my feedreader, thanks to all of you entertaining bitches at TC. Last year I was smart and preloaded the feeds ahead of time so I could get familiar with all the people I didn’t know before showing up in Portland. This year? Yeah, not so much.

The blogroll needs serious revamping, too. Alas, it’s not likely to happen in the next week or so because I’m heading out to Dallas in the morning. I know, I’m still beat up from Philly - what the hell was I thinking? Oh, right. My daughters are in their last week of school and I wanted to see them before they took off for home.

At any rate, I hope you got your share of funny yesterday because today I’m talking about the more serious side of TC. It may be hard to believe, what after reading about my drunken hijinks, that I’m socially phobic, but it’s true. On the Meyers-Briggs scale, I’m an INFP. Google it if you don’t know what that means. Basically, I’m a major introvert.

If you were at TC last weekend then you very likely didn’t know how much I was struggling to keep that on the inside. I can put on The Show with the best of them. But on the inside, I’ll always be the awkward nerdy ugly socially inept outcast. There’s no amount of therapy that will turn that around. I’ve tried. I’ll continue to try, of course, but I know myself too well. I’ve done way more navelgazing than most people in my 41 years on Earth.

As I said in a recent post, I’m not looking for pity, not fishing for compliments. I will always have what I like to call a Permeable Teflon Skin (TM). That means the bad gets through but the good stuff always slides right off.

Shiny very eloquently wrote about this sort of thing and says it much better than I can. But I can so relate, dude, believe me. It’s nice to hear that I’m not the only one struggling with these things. Nevertheless, it FEELS like I’m all alone, the wallflower freak that people (out of niceness) feel the need to say hello to. Again, I’m talking about feelings here, perceptions, stuff that may not actually be happening outside my skin, but is still very real indeed because it’s happening in between my ears. That’s a scary place to be, in my head.

So to say that TC is a major undertaking for me is almost minimizing it. It’s downright terrifying to fly across the country to interact with folks I’ve never met before. Not as much this year, perhaps, as last year, but still a strong 7.5 on the Anxiety Richter scale.

Yes, it helps me a great deal to have people like Hilary and Britt and Adam along for the ride because (as Hilly says) they can operate as a home base of sorts, a safe haven from the onslaught of panicky feelings in a large group situation. Even though I’ve only known Britt and Adam for a relatively short period of time, I feel very close to them. Well, if not close, then comfortable. And everyone already knows how tight I am with Hilary.

But the thing is this: I go to TequilaCon to push the envelope. Hell, I tear the fucking envelope into shreds. I really don’t get out very much these days and could easily qualify as a hermit. So big social events like TequilaCon and BlogHer are truly cathartic and therapeutic for me. I’m forced to go outside my shell.

I guess that’s not entirely true. I mean, I could easily just sit on a couch or chair in the corner somewhere and feel a lot safer, but then what would be the point of me spending inordinate amounts of money when I could have just as easily stayed on my ass at home? Prexactly, that would be ludicrous.

Last year I did a rather poor job at mingling with everyone. I was able to latch onto Hilly and Dave, and it really helped a great deal to get there a day before the actual event, too. I had a crush on someone and glommed onto her, as well. As a result, I missed out on meeting a shitload of great people.

This year I committed myself ahead of time to not let that happen again. I set goals. I was dead set on shaking the hand of every single person attending. I also wanted to be not-so-clingy around Hilly and the people I knew already. I wanted to venture out away from my security blanket and make a sincere effort to hang out with every person there, if only for a few minutes at a clip.

And I think I succeeded, for the most part. Though I admit it took me more than a while to build up the courage needed to approach Sarah and Jill. I didn’t let my inner demons get the best of me, though. I eventually wandered up to Jill and said hello, grabbed a photo, and bolted. At least it felt like I bolted. She was very nice but probably thought I did a touch-and-go.

And Sarah? Oof, that took some testicular fortitude for sure. She’s like a photographic rock star, one of the first people I followed at Flickr. Drop-dead gorgeous and drop-dead gifted.

But I forced myself to meet my goals. I walked over to her on one of the many comfortable sofas at North Bowl and held out my hand. “Hi, Sarah, I’m Karl.” And she was gracious and warm and all the things I expected. When she said she knew ME? Whoa, unbelievable.

I did have the presence of mind to introduce myself to Cecily, as well, but in retrospect, I was so in awe of Sarah that I probably neglected my manners with Cecily.

I’m happy to say that I fulfilled my goals this year at TequilaCon. It wasn’t easy (thank God for Dave’s lanyards), but I believe I at least introduced myself to everyone there.

So it saddens me a bit to know that there are a few people who felt excluded Saturday night. I’m not mentioning names, but I’ve seen some posts where folks stated that TequilaCon was incredibly cliquish. I can understand the feeling, believe me, but in my mind nothing could be further from the truth.

Anyone who knows me and reads my blog knows how close I am with Hilary. And yes, I know more than a handful of the people that were there this weekend, but I DIDN’T know most of them the year before at TC 2007.

Everyone there is extremely approachable and friendly, warm and inviting, and more than happy to spend time with anyone else there. I purposefully stayed away from Hilary and Britt and Adam and a few others so I could foster new relationships. And yes, I’m sure that not everyone shared my mindset on Saturday. However, I would be shocked to learn of anyone there who turned away anybody that approached them.

TequilaCon is a unique experience. Most all of the people there I felt very comfortable with in short order. And most people are very likely adding all the people they met into their feedreaders so they can continue knowing them. All in the name of making new friendships, expanding our horizons, learning new things from new people.

I admit that part of me was irritated when I heard about this “exclusion” from a few people. That part of me said, “What the fuck?! If *I* can go out there and jump in the middle of the deep end, then ANYONE can.”

But the other part of me can really relate to feeling like planting my ass in a chair and not budging from that spot all night. It’s scary; for some of us, anyway. To those few people that felt left out, I’m sincerely sorry. It’s not my fault, don’t get me wrong. I know I did my best to make everybody feel welcome. I put myself out there on the ledge repeatedly, but it paid off in spades. And I’m positive that if you had done the same thing, it would have paid off for you, too.

TequilaCon is NOT an invitation-only event. In fact, there ARE no invitations. It’s totally word-of-mouth and all you have to do is drop by Jenny’s site, click on the TequilaCon link, and drop her a line to tell her you’re coming. And you don’t even have to do that, but once she puts you on the spreadsheet of attendees, you’re assured a lanyard from Dave, and that’s what helps you to mingle, and helps other people mingle with you.

I know these people. At least a good number of them. They’re honest and forthcoming and genuine. They WANTED to meet you, that’s why they were there. If there’s any clique associated with TC it’s that all of TequilaCon is one big clique. All of it. Everyone. Including you.

Once you make it to TC, you’re an insider like everyone else. That’s the God’s honest truth.

EDIT: This is NOT aimed at anyone in particular. And it’s not written in anger, either. I just re-read it and wanted to clarify that. I wanted the other introverts to know that you really are/were welcome.

Filed under Blogging, Depression, TequilaCon, Travel | Comments (54)

So yeah, yesterday’s post. Wow, I just want to thank you all for your comments. Much appreciated.

Some of you mentioned that they thought the newspaper would change its mind and ask me to come back. And that I should ask for a raise and better benefits.

It’s important to note that I was not an employee of the paper. As I mentioned in yesterday’s comments, I was merely a columnist, a paid contractor. So there were no benefits involved. This was not a full-time job.

I think the most commonly-asked questions posed to me is this one: “Karl, what exactly is it you do for a living?”

And now, I digress.

I love it when people say they laugh their ass off at one of my posts. Better yet, if someone spews coffee out their nose…awesome. But most of you that have read me for any length of time know that there’s an awful lot of crap going on in between my ears. I face the effects of severe depression on a daily basis. You’d better believe that I don’t want to post at least half of the time.

Now many of you will say that I shouldn’t blog if I don’t want to blog. That it takes away the entire point of blogging, which is to express yourself and really enjoy the experience. Well, that may be fine for you. Maybe you’re not a daily publisher. That’s fine. But it’s not fine for me. I really need to be writing every day. It’s more than just therapeutic. I may be horsing around most of the time here, but it really is important for me to put my stuff out there, to reach out, to interact.

I live in a rather small town. I know very few people. I don’t get out very much. This may be sad, but it’s a fact. The bulk of my friendships are online.

And I have blogged about this work thing in years past, but never here, never amongst YOU. I’ve thought about this for quite a while and with TequilaCon coming in the next few weeks, I know I’m going to have to answer this again and again and come up with some generic answer.

What exactly do I do for a living?

That’s just it, the truth is I don’t do anything.

I’ve been on Social Security disability for nearly 10 years now. God, has it really been that long? *sigh* I had a huge mental meltdown 10 years ago and immediately entered an intensive outpatient program (group therapy) five days a week…for two fucking years. YEARS.

Diagnosis: PTSD, severe depressive disorder, bipolar disorder

I’ll likely write about my financial implosion during my initial period of short-term disability later. For now, I’ll just say I had to fight for over a year and a half with the insurance company. I went from making nearly $100,000 a year to getting handouts at the local food shelter within twelve months. It wasn’t fun, especially while I was fighting major demons.

I got the SSDI and I haven’t been back to work since. Not really. I tried going back to work (technical writing) again in 2000 for about four months and got fired. I was really not able to focus and wasn’t doing my best work, to be sure.

So the newspaper column? The one I got fired from after 2-1/2 years, that was my ONLY job.

I hate this about myself. It’s embarrassing as hell. The fact is I want to work, but I’m terrified at the prospect of trying to get myself another “real job.” What if I’m just that fucked up that I CAN’T go back to work? Like…ever? This is where my self-worth comes into question. I’m a master at self-sabotage, I’ve pioneered new techniques, believe me.

So how does Karl make his living? He pretty much doesn’t.

Argh. Anyway, now you know. I have lots of time on my hands. All the better to torture myself.

I’m not looking for pity here, that’s not what this is about. I’m just tired of keeping it a secret.

I’ve been thinking about it ever since yesterday, what’s bringing me so down all of a sudden? I’ve been bummed lately, anyway, and the newspaper column only added to it. Cus, you know, that was one of those things that meant I was almost normal. Now you know why I’m pretty bummed about losing a once-a-week column.

Fuck, who needs a drink?

By the way, this is one of those times I feel like just hibernating and withdrawing from all things online. But I’m not gonna do it. Screw that.

Still, I’ll take a drink.

Filed under Depression | Comments (46)

Dr. Shrink: "Mr. Erikson, how are you today?"

Me: "Meh. Same shit, different day."

Shrink: "I see you're on various medications."

Me: "Life is a drug cocktail, doc."

Shrink: "Yes, well, are they managing your depression?"

Me: "Lately, not so much."

Shrink: "Are you suicidal?"

Me: (sigh) "No, I'm not going to kill myself. Yes, I think about it. No, I don't have an actual plan."

Shrink: "But…you're not suicidal."

Me: "Right."

Shrink: "But you think about it."

Me: "Well, sure."

Shrink: "Like how do you think about it?"

Me: "In my head, how else can you think about it?"

Shrink: "No, I mean in what ways do you think about it?"

Me: "Well, I don't exactly think about killing myself as much as I do think about all the ways I can die."

Shrink: "For example?"

Me: "Well, I could fall off of an overpass and then get hit by a Mack truck. I mean, I couldn't do it around here, of course. No overpass."

Shrink: "How else?"

Me: "There's always hanging, but I'd be worried it wouldn't take. Then I'd be paralyzed from the neck down."

Shrink: "That would be unfortunate."

Me: "Seriously. Then I couldn't even masturbate. Hell, couldn't even feel a blowjob. Hanging, definitely out."

Shrink: "You've given this a great deal of thought."

Me: "I've had decades of practice."

Shrink: "Do you find yourself afraid a lot?"

Me: "Afraid? Sure."

Shrink: "Afraid of what?"

Me: "What have you got? Ha, I kid. Hell, I don't know. Lots. People. Being alone the rest of my life."

Shrink: "You're afraid of people AND afraid of being alone?"

Me: (laughs) "Yeah, I'm some piece of work, right?"

Shrink: "You're what we in the industry call…fucked."

Me: "Welcome to my world."

Filed under Depression | Comments (26)