I’ve written about how I’m generally a barefoot hippie, but yet have some definite overtones of goth in my soul. I’ve said in the past that I discovered the goth lifestyle several years into my witchcraft path. I found a name that went with my outlook on life, and some of my interests and practices. I don’t think goth is something you adopt, rather it is inherent in your soul.
In discovering the goth online community, and many goth witches, I found out I shared many of their traits and interests. I also found out that, for me, seeing the world as a goth, in shades of sepia, helped me with my depression. Constantly fighting off the darkness in search of light is exhausting. When I came to relish the darker side of life, the light came easier.
I’ve written about my struggles with depression. It’s something I’ve dealt with since my early teens. It really took hold in college, with the lovely added benefit of acute anxiety. Ultimately, it cost me a normal life. It contributed to a divorce, job and social status loss, and eventually loss of self esteem. The ship has righted to some degree, but the life I have now, shaped by depression and anxiety, is far from the one I had envisioned for myself.
Witchcraft helped me quite a bit. Frankly, fuck all the fundamentalists who condemn the path as evil. It brought me an empowerment and a greater degree of confidence. It also, in this age of social media, brought me to a community of witches, Pagans, and those who support the choice of someone to call themselves a witch.
When I was into my goth phase pretty deeply, I used to visit cemeteries quite a bit. Something about the quiet solitude was comforting. During a very melancholy period, I wrote the following poem while sitting among the grave markers. I don’t believe I’ve ever shared this before, and reading it now is fairly disturbing to me. But I think it shows what the depths of depression can look like.
A Witch’s Graveyard Lament
i feel it all slipping away
the lust for living has been replaced
by sadness and gloom
the blankets of grass that covers the graves
seem to beckon with a strange comfort
the bright shades of life have been replaced
by tones of sepia and grey
there is no point of each and every day
so why should I endure the pain
it’s a life wasted that I’ve carved
the music has become ethereal
i’ve found a bond with the misunderstood
the outcasts, the loners, the night ones
with our white faces and our sad eyes
i see the darkness of the early morning
and the pitch black of deep night
as sleep is no longer my friend
the bed has become my tormenter
no one knows the depth of my feelings
the clues I keep closed in my mind
but there are signs all around
no one really bothers to look too deep
i’ve made some acquaintances with those
who rule the underworld
the ones who could be my eternal friends
they have taken prominent places in my head
i feel the descent starting
i don’t know if i can stop it
do i want to?
would anyone really care
i fear relief would quickly replace grief
i feel it all slipping away