Shout

I’ve been hiding that I’m Wiccan and witchy for twenty years. There were some off periods, but I always came back to it because it resonated with me in a way that nothing else ever has and I dare say never will. I mentioned in last week’s post that I’d found Wicca at a young age, when I was thirteen. I put myself through initiation when I was fourteen, and did what I could to study for a year and a day. I didn’t have access to the internet, and my parents are Catholic.

I tried coming out of the closet once before, when I was fifteen. It went about the same way as it did for my character Lydia in my new book Grave Matters: The First Necromancer, which is available on Amazon now in Kindle or paperback. I didn’t have Lydia’s guts—she was determined to be herself and she wasn’t going to compromise it. From a young age, she’d looked into not only Wicca and Satanism but also emancipation. This meant I had to do some research on emancipation laws for New Mexico for the time period. I had taken some classes to get a second degree in paralegal studies and got half-way through before I called it quits (I got an A in a horror movie film class and failed Torts, and there was no way I was going to take torts with the same instructor again, and they were they only one that taught torts at the time). We’d had to learn how to look up laws using a website and I miraculously remembered how to do that in this case, and luckily found what I needed and was able to work it into my book. Lydia emancipated herself as soon as she turned seventeen—I think there may be some terms and conditions between her and her parents, but that probably will be addressed a little in book 2 at some point. I don’t mention it in Grave Matters: The First Necromancer, but it will probably (hopefully) be mentioned in book 2 that one of the first things she did in her new apartment was put up an altar, right in her living room, Baphomet front and center as she leans more towards Satanism than Wicca, but likes both. I believe she also has Buddha on her altar, but I digress.

I didn’t have Lydia’s guts when I was fifteen. I don’t know that I’ll ever be as brave or gutsy as her, and that’s fine, it’s not for everyone. I wrote her for the outcasts that are outspoken and won’t compromise themselves because they know themselves so thoroughly and refuse to do so (which, if you look at Satanism, is entirely fitting: a big part of their religion is activism, so they’ll be at Pride, they’ll be fighting for separation of church and state, they’ll be fighting for women and women’s rights, they’ll be fighting for themselves in one way or another—not everyone can go public either because of work or family, and that’s fine; from what I’ve seen and heard, they’re very supportive and understanding of each other). I wrote Lydia for me, too: She’s the no-nonsense, stubborn one who mean what she says and says what she means. I would have looked up to Lydia, and in a way, I look up to her now, even though she’s in 2005 and seventeen, like most of the rest of her friends, where I left them at the end of this book.

When I had the conversation with my parents when I was fifteen, my instinct after was to hide. I’m also a goth, and that wasn’t readily acceptable either, but it was easier to maneuver and compromise; it was manageable, and it was something I loved, it fit me and I fit it. I’ve been goth for longer than I’ve been Wiccan and witchy by two years, and nothing deterred me from being goth, though my parents did monitor how I dressed and drew the line with my makeup. I wasn’t allowed to wear black lipstick unless it was Halloween, and I couldn’t get the baggy pants that had chains decorating them or holes in them from Hot Topic. Tight and fitted were okay…though it did draw unwanted attention from older “men.” Yep, I got hit on by guys who could be mistaken for being my dad or a teacher from school. One happened when I was thirteen and the other happened when I was fifteen. It wasn’t fun.

I did have a stint with color again in college. It was uncomfortable, and I repressed parts of remembering it. Color didn’t fit anymore than Catholicism or Christianity for me. It was a preference, like a lot of things. There’s just something about black that is comforting and soothing, just as there is something comforting and soothing with Wicca and Witchcraft for me.

So, if I’d been hiding my spirituality for twenty years, why come out? Why change?

Well, because I wanted to me be. I wanted to be fully who I am. I hid so much of myself from my family, and sometimes my friends, depending on my comfort level, that it got to be a lot.

When I was younger, I had dreams: I dreamed of being the next Stephen King, even though at the time I wasn’t a fan of his books. I think I’ve mentioned that I read Carrie when I was very young and hated it (rereading it as an adult, I liked it; not my favorite, but it had its strengths). I saw the movie and then read the book Dolores Claiborne and it saved me in a lot of ways, and I’ve been an even bigger Stephen King fan since (I liked the movies but didn’t give the books the time of day until Dolores Claiborne).

I dreamed that I’d get out of the Land of Entrapment, as my friends and I called it in elementary school. I had no idea where I’d go; the sky was the limit. I just knew I wanted to get out of New Mexico.

I even dreamed of getting my parents a house.

I dreamed that I’d be able to live the life I wanted to lead, I’d be a successful writer, I’d be making a living off of my writing, I’d be happy writing. I’d be far away from New Mexico, and I wouldn’t have to deal with people if I didn’t have to or want to. I dreamed I’d openly be Wiccan and witchy, and I’d write all the horrific things I wanted with as many steamy scenes as I wanted, with all of the Wiccan things I liked entwined in there.

The Outcast would be the protagonist. The monsters are the main characters, the sympathetic ones.

Life doesn’t always go as you dream or plan.

Something life changing happened when I was seventeen and a junior in high school. It was similar to the end of what happens in Grave Matters: The First Necromancer. I touch on it in the Acknowledgments and won’t touch on it much here. All I’ll say is that it changed everything. I was depressed from age 17 and started coming out of it just before my 21st birthday. I had a breakdown (I can’t remember if my current psychologist called it a mental breakdown or some other kind, but when I told him about it he said it had a clinical name—and he doesn’t do labels for stigmatic purposes). After the breakdown, I really started to snap out of the depression. I don’t entirely remember some of the earlier years of college unless I really, really try as a result.

I hadn’t planned on going to college, but I went to the University of New Mexico and obtained my Bachelor’s in English with a focus in Creative Writing and minored in Criminology (for some reason the terminology changed from sociology to criminology when graduating with a degree in English).

I never wanted a job with the State of New Mexico, never wanted to be a State worker, but…here I am. I’ve been with the State for almost ten years now (if there’s a Crossroads Demon in any way, shape, or form who’s tied to this, I’d like to talk terms ASAP). I’ve been with three different agencies, but it all goes towards a pension.

I definitely didn’t plan on living at home for this long.

But here I am: A State worker, living at home…and writing. And reading Tarot and doing Tarot as a business. And I’m out of the broom closet.

I didn’t want to ever have the conversation with my family about being Wiccan or witchy. I used to joke about coming out of the broom closet when so-and-so died because I didn’t want to disappoint them. As I’ve written, I told friends when I felt comfortable and like I could tell them. So why come out after hiding it so long?

Well, I wouldn’t hide that I’m goth, now, would I? I wouldn’t change that about myself, or my musical tastes and preferences. That would be…like being less than who I am. My music tastes are vast, and I do like a lot of different genre’s. Just this morning, I listened to a song by Arch Enemy I’ve never heard before, as I just found them, and felt a sense of calm and home wash over me and was so soothed. All weekend, I had “Every Day is Halloween” by Ministry stuck in my head and craved Type O Negative. And don’t get me started on Motionless in White or In This Moment.

Spirituality is a very different, more personal thing than music…or is it?

When people actually sit down and talk with me to get to know me, they get surprised: I like metal? I don’t like the outdoors? What’s wrong with me?

I love metal. It’s soothing. See the previous post, Motionless in White’s music works as lullabies as well as jams. So does In This Moment’s music.

I would like the outdoors a lot better if there weren’t so many people. As they say on the Morbid: A True Crime Podcast: “Fresh air is for dead people.” I like driving up into the mountains, but I won’t be hiking up there again anytime soon. The last time I’d tried, I’d been having a horrible day: Two guys were testing my boundaries, and I was in a bad mood. I decided to try and connect with nature and try to go for a hike in the mountains, so I did. It was a lovely day, which was why it was crowded. I kept my distance from people as best as I could and after a while decided to head home. I was climbing down to my car when a creep blew kisses at me out of his window as he drove by. I got in my car, paused to get water. I decided to let it go and not let it ruin my hike. It wasn’t like the dude was turning his car around to continue to harass me…except he did. I was waiting for traffic to clear so I could get on the road back into town, when I saw his car. He was getting ready to pull up along the side of my car. I peeled out of there. And that’s why I won’t go hiking anymore. (Before you say take a dog with you or ask what I was wearing, what I was wearing shouldn’t matter, but for poops and giggles, I was wearing black leggings, no makeup, my hair was up in a messy bun, tennis shoes, a black tank over a black sports bra and a little backpack. My dad and I do have a dog, who is an elderly and unruly German Shepherd mix. He wouldn’t last the drive into the mountains, if I could somehow manage to get him into my car in the first place.)

Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m content with myself. I’m happy reading by myself in a corner. Or writing in the very same corner.

That written, nothing is wrong with the people asking the questions, either. Different people like different things and that’s fine. Let’s not shame each other for those differences.

I know I keep writing it, but I like Wicca and Witchcraft. It makes me happy, it’s soothing, it’s fulfilling. I feel like it brings out my better sides, it makes me a better person overall. It centers me. Is it for everyone. No. Neither is metal, goth, or industrial music; neither is hiking or camping; and neither is Catholicism and Christianity.

I wanted to come out and fully be who I am. I didn’t want to lie anymore or hide. It was stressful and exhausting. It was hard. It was wearing and tearing on me and I didn’t realize just how much until after I came out to my dad and it felt like a big weight had lifted from my shoulders. When I came out publicly on Facebook and Instagram, it was like another weight had lifted, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I took the video of it in my car outside of Starbucks, posted it, and I took Highway 14 to Albuquerque, smiling, dancing and singing the entire way. I couldn’t contain myself. I’d done it! Is it how I wanted and pictured coming out of the broom closet? No, but it was amazing all the same. It made me happy to finally be me, to admit who I really am.

I could have let my books do the coming out for me. One of the big themes in Grave Matters: The First Necromancer has to do with spirituality and how (most of) the main characters find themselves, and find that they don’t prefer organized monotheistic religion. The thing was I didn’t want to let my book do the talking for me. I wanted to talk for me. I wanted to let it all out and be unapologetically and authentically me, finally. I didn’t want to hide anymore. As my psychologist and I have talked about before, “I want it all. I’m not settling for less.” That doesn’t only go for whomever my partner is going to be. That goes for myself as well.

I can stop shouting now. I’ve let it all out and written the things I can do without. So come on…

Authentically: Keep it Spooky!