Gothic Romance

People say that I’m a morbid person. I’m not exactly gothic, but I’m not ungothic, either. I’m not really sure what I am. Weird, definitely. Strong stomach… sure. Maybe even a freak – I’ll go with that, too. I find some delight in things that shouldn’t bring me delight – that wouldn’t bring normal people delight, anyway. It’s hard to explain.


When I was young, I loved to watch medical shows. Surgery shows never bothered me. Horror movies with lots of blood and guts and violence never bothered me. Ready for this: there’s something strangely beautiful about the spillage of blood. It’s like a flower blossoming and blooming death. Born to blossom, bloom to perish. The pretty death poppies fascinate me. I don’t think I’ve ever actually told anyone that before in conversation. But my writing reflects my obsession with the taboo-ish topic.


I watched his eyes flutter in a strangely beautiful way as he gasped, hissing in air. He didn’t scream – he was perfectly silent as his eyes made his way down to his belly, blood blossoming on his naked, tanned flesh, snaking its way down to bloom on the waistband of his pants. My eyes made their way down as well, however I didn’t stay quiet.


I’ll probably never let anyone read anything more than that – my writing tends to be gory and violent, utilizing my sudo-bloodlust in ways that sometimes surprise and delight even me. My mind is totally twisted.


I actually love tattoos. I love piercings, too (not the really crazy ones… the standards, like the ears and nose and tongue and belly and maybe eyebrow). Neither can be overboard, thought; it has to be artfully done, and that artfulness depends on the looks of the person. Leather is really hot (both literally and figuratively!), and lace rocks. I’m in lust with zombies and ghosts and vampires (not the Twitard ones, either). So, three guesses on where I like to spend some of my free time, and the first two don’t count.


Graveyards are peaceful. There’s a serenity that I find there that’s hard for me to find in any other place. Sadly, though, I haven’t been to a graveyard in a while. It’s still definitely one of my favorite places to be.


Graveyards are sadly misunderstood. How I would love to play hide and seek in a graveyard!! (Now those “normies” out there are cringing and saying how sick I am. I might be sick, sure, but I can’t help what I think would be fun.) I imagine darting in and out of the stones and sprinting around monuments. I’d love to be able to go into a monument or crypt, but I wouldn’t dare desiccate someone’s grave. That’s their home now, and I don’t want someone breaking into my home, so I won’t break into theirs. And that’s final. (Yes, pun intended.)


When I was a little girl, I wanted to get married in a graveyard. I pictured a pretty white dress – yes… the princess puffy gown – but I was like seven. (I still want to get married in a graveyard… on Halloween. That is totally my dream, but I don’t look for it to happen.) There’s a graveyard that I pass almost every day. It’s an old one next to the VA. The graveyard sits on a hill slanting down towards the road. At the bottom of the hill, there’s a flag pole with the American flag attached to it. There aren’t any tombs, but the age of some of the stones makes up for it. It used to be my ideal spot for marriage.


Keep in mind, though, I was around seven when I first thought of this fantasy. Generally Catholic weddings aren’t held outside. I can’t honestly say the reason, though.


As I grew, my dreams changed a little. I still wanted to get married in a graveyard, but I wanted to wear black instead of white. And that evolved into wanting to get married in a graveyard in black in a Victorian-esque gown. Eventually, that became getting married in a graveyard in black in a Victorian-esque gown on Halloween.


Riddle me this: where would I find a Catholic priest who would be willing to not only marry me outside, but also with me dressed in black and on Halloween in a cemetery?


It’s not likely that I would be able to find one… and have both the family of my groom and mine as well as the church agree on everything. And while I know that if the church was the only thing standing in my way, I could have a different wedding, but there would have to be some sort of compromise I could reach with the diocese. I wouldn’t feel comfortable getting married under any other faith.


That doesn’t mean that I have to give up on my dreams, however. It may seem a little silly for someone as strange as I am to want the kind of proper wedding that I want with the changes that I want, but I wouldn’t be strange if I let someone else make up my mind for me. And it wouldn’t be my wedding, would it? And what’s the point in that?


Just because I don’t conform to the standards that society thinks I should conform to doesn’t mean that I have to forego wanting normal things in an abnormal way. If it’s my dream to do something, why should I let someone else talk me out of the way I want to do something? So, even though I’m older now and more mature, that doesn’t mean that I have to give up my dream of a graveyard wedding. I can hold on to my childhood dreams and still function in society. I don’t have to wear the mask that society wants me to wear. If I want to walk through Wal-Mart like Bigfoot from the famous 1960s footage, then I will do it… and I will do it with a smile. Because the child in me – the dreams in me – are still alive.