It is not easy getting older, Goth or not. Above and beyond the ‘can’t do things like you used to’ thing, there is the thought barrier.
I am shopping and see the cutest dress, it doesn’t need too much to Goth it up to the max. I have been looking for something like it for years. And there I have to step back.
It would have been perfect fifteen years ago. It would have been nice ten years ago. It is ridiculous to try it now.
One look in the mirror tells me that. I’m an old lady. It is time to do the classy thing if I’m going to grow old gracefully. But this girl in me, the one that used to use this same body years ago, just wants to still have fun. Rock out. Flaunt it, be outrageous and be happy.
In some ways I’m very luck. I live where the neighbors can’t see me well. I can wear the clothing and makeup I want to in my own yard and not explain myself, get odd looks, or be abused.
I can fling my arms wide when the wind blows, like a child playing airplane, and not wait until a grandchild is present to play. I can wear my fairy wings, both happy and dark, to do my house work, go bird watching or look for wee folk in the woods without having a child in tow to explain my strange behavior.
I may be living my life backwards. Playing the part of adult as a child and the child as an adult. But I am living my life and not watching it pass me by.
I do mourn the wrinkles, but won’t do a thing to erase them. They are a map of my life. I have had hard times along with the good. I earned each and every gray hair and wear it proudly. But in my heart I will be a young Goth girl forever more. Even if I look like grandma Addams in the mirror now. I’m a Gothic Princess in a Crone’s body and the counter spell has been lost to time.
Getting old is a kick in my black stripped pantaloons.