In high school I was a Goth. The only one, in fact, other than a very bitchy girl named Amanda who I used to have a crush on, who was absolutely obsessed with Marilyn Manson and self-harmed for one reason or another. She was put into a program when she was in tenth grade due to being so severely depressed that she barely did any work, and probably for a variety of other reasons that she didn't see fit to tell me. Amanda was an interesting person... But she had her issues, and I had mine, and we circled around each other for a while until I eventually became vague friends with her. I eventually stopped being friends with her--I discovered that she was one of those people who reveled in being "weirder than thou" and was also utterly emotionally controlling.

But she introduced me to a British band named Cradle of Filth, and I tried to work out my self-identity during my freshman and early sophomore year, which was a special sort of hell in itself. I was seeking therapy for depression that had little to do with my clothing choices, of which I'm not especially proud. You see, I was a Hot Topic Goth during that time, something that disgusts no small part of me when I think back to that period. I didn't know any better however, and my mother supported me whenever we made trips to the mall. It was important to me that she accepted the fact that I wore black...it still is actually.

Amanda eventually graduated, and by junior and senior years I was long since out of my depression. I had spent hours researching the Goth subculture, trying to find my niche in a place that was all but non-existent. There were Goths in Northampton, a city/town that was twenty minutes away. But...but. I was even more unsure of myself then, and the last thing I wanted was to enter into a world where I'd be presented with people who might look down on me even more. I was only bullied the once, though--for the most part the people in my school just ignored it.

I discovered color and gave my jingling pants away to Goodwill.

I went to college.

These days, I don't know if I'm a Goth or not. My favorite color is still black. The bulk of my current wardrobe is still dark-hued.

I don't know if I can call myself Goth any longer. I don't think I was really one in the first place anymore--but it's the closest thing I can come to when trying to define myself. When I first researched the Goth subculture it seemed like I had finally found where I belonged. Maybe I'll return to that.

Maybe.