When I was still on Livejournal some time back, I was one of the first members of Gothic Royalty - DJ Eternal Darkness was my Fave DJ from Seattle and even after several years he still knew who I was. The group was created as tongue in cheek and, as can be expected, turned into a bitchfest. They talked about music I'd never heard, showed off outfits I could never afford, and anyone who wasn't dressing in black all the time, dyeing their hair constantly, and knew the names of every single album of goth music that had ever been done just was a "sell out". I remember listening to the conversations and looking down at my usual mode of dress these days - ancient black skirt and a blue jumper I stole off my husband (clothes in England don't fit me), and wondered if I'm really part of this Scene Called Goth anymore.

It's a pretty common question, especially amongst parents and the older crowd. There just comes a point when you get sick of the stares and the judgments before you even start, and not just from the mundanes, but even from the other goths. Do you know how hard it is to keep black velvet clean with a toddler? And it may be all very well and good for other folks to raise their children round Dead Dolls, Ed Gorey, and the Crow, but I, and many other parents, have lost custody of children for being "Weird". I don't remember the last time I had a facial. I dyed my hair bright red this spring and then quickly realised there'd be no way I could keep it looking fresh, and nothing irritates me more than having nappy, washed-out-colour hair.

There reaches a point when you get really sick of everyone being in your business. Of the snickering just because you have a different hair colour than you're "supposed to" - even though most of the white folks these days have two or three different colours streaked into their hair and it's perfectly all right. One gets tired of trying to find clothing that isn't neon pink or whatever ghastly shade is in fashion this year, and even more tired of the same old crushed velvet crap that falls apart after two washes that are sold in the Goth equivalent of Walmart. And yet, at the same time, dressing in "acceptable" clothing feels absolutely awful, and when dressed in my grey trousers and white shirt I sigh longingly at the the small groups of black-clad "freaks" with blue hair and smile at them - and they stare back with completely incomprehension. Because I'm Not in Uniform, you see...they don't recognise me as one of their own. And that sucks.

Something has to give, doesn't it?

I'm not sure I'm what could be called "Goth" these days. I still have the pre-requisite angst and still feel sometimes that the best thing for the world would be to hold it underwater for a good 20 minutes. I still like my goth and darker music (whether or not you consider it goth or not, thankyouverymuch). My son is a huge fan of Nightmare Before Christmas, and I look forward to the Corpse Bride. But the last event I attended was the Masquerade Ball in January, and I don't forsee myself going on any more outings in the near future. I'm just not interested in loud music, louder mouths and so much clove smoke you come out of a club smelling like a Christmas Ham.

I do miss that freewheeling gothness, however. The staying out at the Vogue till 2 am dressed in your best and dancing for hours. I admit I look around at the cleaning that needs doing, the 60 pounds I've put on since my pregnancy that refuses to come off without starvation diets, the hundreds of chores and, yes, the lack of a decent wardrobe and wonder what happened to my life, to who I was. I have friends with children who still manage to rock their socks off, and yet somehow I can't seem to find where I left my groove.

I've given up trying to define what Goth is for most people. I don't even bother trying to explain it amongst other goths. I don't really give a damn what other people think that Goth is. I don't care whether I'm listening to "goth music" or wearing "goth clothing". I don't dress as freaky as I used to, if I do at all - and admittedly a lot of my positive body image is gone.

But last week, after a really bad session of the "What Happened to Me"-ism, I rose up out of my chair, checked that my son was asleep, skipped the hoovering, and the dishes, dug out my old Sisters of Mercy CD -

And danced my ass of.

Felt pretty good too. So I guess even I still Have It. Let's see if I can keep it.

LuCy