Member-only story
Primedia in Toronto, 1999, was one of my lowest points.
I was three years into my disorder. What it is is irrelevant. Don’t ask. Won’t tell. I thought I’d made it to acceptance. I was wrong.
The convention’s attendance was dire. It was so poor that each panel was empty or whole of the same attendees.
This triggered chronic depression for me. It led me to insufferable highs, with me boasting how great I was. Then, uncomfortable lows, where I just felt useless and forgettable.
On the way home, my friends laid into me about those lows. We were all pissed off by the convention too, but the lecture was still justified. They listed all the things I’ll already be known for.
They’re still right, 26 years later.
This is for everyone who publishes here on Medium, Facebook, and X/Twitter. Or any other social media you’re on, you have one intention: to be noticed.
Then, you try to build your online community, your tribe.
You want to be remembered.
I heard a saying on Fear the Walking Dead, but I’m sure it came from elsewhere. It’s deep:
