I am a mess. Really quite badly fucked up.
I’ve just come back from the 2016 DiscWorld Convention. It’s one of the biggest and friendliest fan conventions in the country, and is held in DW-fandom to be a wonderful and awesome place to be. And it is – the people there are friendly, enthusiastic, inclusive, intelligent, and we all share a love of the late Sir Terry Pratchett’s work, which I have been reading avidly since I was about 15.
So why do I feel like shit?
It’s not the normal post-convention blues: You go to the Con, you have fun, you meet loads of old friends, you do enjoyable things, go to interesting programme items, and for four days you’re in a tight-knit friendly community where pretty much everyone is practically guaranteed to share your interests; so when you go home, you feel sad that it’s over, you miss the people you met and probably won’t meet again for another two years, you miss the place.
Me? I want to bury myself underground and never come out again until people forget about ever meeting me.
Did I do anything that didn’t piss someone off? Did I insult everyone there, or just the people I talked to? How is it anyone still likes me after they met me? I don’t fit in – I really don’t fit in. I don’t talk to people, I certainly don’t start conversations (and if I do I get out of them ASAP). I need alcohol to be even vaguely sociable, but I don’t like the taste and it gets me depressed way too quickly to be any use with assisting confidence. I look back over the weekend, and whatever springs to mind only screams a checklist of how to be a douchebag. I’m annoying, arrogant, crass, emotionally and socially ignorant, insensitive, jealous, lazy, lecherous, manipulative, oblivious, selfish, uncouth, whiny… Did I really think I could rock up and sweep in with a few lame ideas and make things even more awesome? I’m a hanger-on, a follower, a third-stringer, and not a particularly original one either.
I came home on Tuesday. I’ve been feeling like this since Wednesday afternoon. Yesterday, I had to go shopping, and it was so bad I nearly broke down in tears when someone else got in the lift on the way back.
Someone got in the same lift as me, and I nearly had a nervous breakdown. Clearly, something is wrong. And it’s probably more than just four days-worth of social anxiety backlog.
Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve freaked out somewhat over being at a convention (Friday night of the ’06 Con, for instance), or felt depressed during one (Monday, ’12), or even afterwards (IDWCon ’09 or Eastercon ’10). And, intellectually, I know it can’t be as bad as I’ve been making it out to be. I mean, I enjoyed the Hedgehog Party, and so did a lot of other people. That’s not an assumption, that’s a verifiable fact, because nearly a dozen people told me they did. There was the Dead Monkey Party (most of it), the various combat-y items, the singing bits, and, hey, I even managed to hang out with a couple of friends for a couple of hours.
Friends. My closest friends are all DiscWorld fans. I know almost all of them through online contact rather than personal. There are people I know and spend time with and take an interest in in Real Life™, but it’s incredibly rare that I feel anything like the same sort of connection I do with them as with the people I hang around with at conventions, particularly DiscWorld conventions. And then we go home, some to different countries, most to different parts of this country, and we barely speak until the next convention. There’ll be online contact with a few of them, but unless you’re one of the double-handful that live in London, there’ll be no face-to-face stuff for two years.
I’m lonely. And after four days of feeling alone in the middle of a crowd of people, it really hits hard just how lonely I am.
Maybe I should just cut my losses and not go to any more.