As I’m struggling to bring myself to buy new clothes, I’m constantly cycling back to the same argument. That either, I have plenty of clothes and that I should hold off until I lose weight and have my place. While the other side of the argument is slowly based on the notion that I’m not worth it. Which speaks volumes about how deeply my upbringing has affected me.

I’m so accustomed to wearing clothes given to me by people who no longer wanted them. Such as church donations or family members. Sure, it helped but a lot of times I simply didn’t have a choice. It just all boiled down to what physically fit me. So, nothing matched and was typically colorful and bright. At times, I was simply pressured to accept whatever clothes were given to me, regardless if I wanted to or not. All because I was deemed ungrateful for not accepting such “kindness.”

I was shamed since I had no true say in what I wanted. The only upside I was able to find some clothing that fit me both physically and mentally. And during the rare moments that I bought new clothes, I had to follow the set rules given to me. I was not allowed to wear things I wanted, which were typically in the dark color spectrum.

Hence why I think it is where I just started wearing the same things over and over again. Since not only due to sensory issues. But also due to fitting within the set rules while still being as close to myself as possible. My family has always fought with me that I needed to wear professional clothing and be feminine. I did at least try. Such as wearing clothing without any patterns. Yet, they wouldn’t stop unless I wore anything that wasn’t black.

It would get so bad that I just gave up trying. It got to the point I only accepted clothes that physically fit me. And whenever I went clothes shopping for myself, I was constantly reminded I wasn’t allowed to buy the clothes I like. I am grateful for the moments I was given my first batman shirt and superman shirt. I finally had something that was not only acceptable by my family standards but the little standard I had for myself.

When I did buy clothes that I liked, a wave of crippling guilt washed over me. It would get so bad I wouldn’t even wear the clothing unless I was completely alone. My anxiety over clothes would drive me to the point I would rather stay in the same sweatpants and a tank top than try anything else. At this point, it was meaningless to wear anything that wasn’t approved by family members.

Rarely I would have moments of bravery, and my family would mock me. They would have these backstabbing remarks. Like saying how I should be dressing in such a way every day. Or that they didn’t know I could dress due to constantly looking like a slob. Sometimes even commenting how it’s so nice to see me finally taking care of myself and looking pretty. Even worse when they comment how all I needed now was to wear makeup and be the girl they know I can be. Especially when they state I look ugly when doing my “weird” makeup.

It doesn’t help that even teachers would comment that I needed to stop wearing my “weird” makeup. A female teacher would constantly harass me that I shouldn’t wear my vest. All so I can showcase my feminine form. And then scream at me for wearing clothes that were too “revealing”. I already am bullied in my own home. So, to have female teachers harass me about what I should wear was too much. Even more when the one who hurt the most was my art teacher.

Nothing I ever did was enough for anyone. I have tried so hard to fit into the rules people have given me and I just fail. When it comes to clothes, I either look like a depressed homeless person, since everything is in shreds. Or I look like a doll who’s trying too hard. And when I did wear what everyone wanted, I was sexualized. Constantly pulled between the fact my chest was large and that I should own it. Or being shamed for trying to own my body.

I never was able to make anyone happy. Not in the way I dressed or acted. And when I finally accepted my sexuality is when things took a strange turn. Before when I would have the strength to get dressed, my family would side comment that I only did that for my friends. Or worse, trying to impress my boyfriend at the time. But when I came out as someone who loved females, I was still bombarded with the pressure I should be with men. Or that, I only like women because all my friends were cis males.

At best, my family was mainly glad that I loved females because they didn’t believe I could be a mother. Saying things about how I would be terrible at it and that they just didn’t want any more grandchildren. So, to the woman who raised me, it was great news that she didn’t have to worry about me having any offsprings. Even if I wasn’t queer, I didn’t want children to begin with. But that statement truly hurt.

And when I came out as non-binary it shocked me how much it wasn’t a big deal to them. Even though it wasn’t a surprise, since I have been trying for years to figure out the reason that I never felt female. For so long I had just summed it up that I was simply both. Yet, when I learned the term non-binary I felt some way free to express myself in a way that I would hopefully be understood. That feeling didn’t last long.

Eventually, it came back around to me needing to be more of a female. I once again had to deal with the constant annoyance of my siblings bringing up that I might be sleeping around with my male friends. No matter how hard I try nobody ever believes what I say. For so long they simply have labeled me as a lair.

Sometimes I would attempt to speak with my sisters or mother about my thoughts and feelings. But it always ends the same. Either they argue that their opinions and feelings are the right ones. Or point out that I just don’t know what I’m talking about. Even worse, what gets me the most, is that my sister, Leslie, likes to take credit for the things I like. Such as gothic clothing and rock music. When really, it’s not because of her.

Leslie has always fought with me over the fact I like rock and heavy metal. She would argue that I wasn’t goth because I didn’t smoke or drink or had a horrible personality. Not to mention, constantly telling me I would grow out of my tomboy phase just like our older sister, Kendra. Leslie would just tell me these stories that made me feel so much worse for myself. Making me feel like everything I am is a lie.

But it was through classmates in high school that I got to explore other bands, that weren’t on the limited MTV channel. Limited because I wasn’t allowed to watch most shows with family members around. When I finally found online radio stations, I got introduced to some of my favorite bands. One of which was Five Finger Death Punch.

And I learned about goth because another classmate had asked me if I was goth due to the amount of black, I wore. Along with the artwork I would do. So, I researched what goth was. My damn sister isn’t the reason I like the things I like. At that, she fights me for not liking what she likes. And after many conversations with friends, I learned things such as what is considered abuse.

When I last spoke to my current therapist, she questioned do I know what the words I used in our session meant. I explained to her how I never thought the words “abuse”, “trauma”, or “trigger” were words that fit my case. It was after speaking with friends about my home life that they pointed these things out to me. Such as I been emotionally and mentally abused. My friend in Oregon even pointed out that I behave like an abuse victim.

So, learning these new terms I did what I always do when I don’t understand. I used the internet for definitions and examples. Being able to have such a tool is incredible. Since my family isn’t trustworthy with my thoughts or emotions. Which I had learned at a very young age. As I’m growing up in Oregon, and speaking with a therapist I’m recovering memories I never thought I wanted back. Therapy is giving me the tools to improve on skills I have been developing on my own for years.

For years I was forced to be self-aware for my safety. So, to finally be in a place where it’s helping me heal is very rewarding. For so long I was never able to remember my childhood. Since it has been covered in a ton of nightmares. But I slowly remember the physical abuse I dealt with. From my father and brother and everyone else. How I was treated like a disease and disrespected. It is no wonder why I am the way I am.

Which makes taking care of my own needs extremely difficult. Shopping for food is already stressful enough. And I’m getting help in navigating and doing things on my own. Such as filling out paperwork and being vocal about my needs and limits. So, now I must face the horrors of buying clothes.

Not just because I need new clothes. But also, to improve my relationship with clothing. In essence, I need a full new wardrobe. Yet that requires room and money. Even though it might not be as complicated as I believe. Though I am still struggling with the trauma I have over money. Especially dealing with the shame of trying to care for my needs.

I’m slowly improving my relationship with food. Such as being able to cook. Even working on figuring out what I like and don’t like. Along with finally feeding myself without the shame and guilt. So, buying clothes will take some work. But I’ll never get through it if I don’t start somewhere. Especially since I am desperately in need of clothes that fit.

Like a pair of new sneakers or boots, since my current ones all hurt my feet. A new pair of jeans and joggers, since my current ones are in disrepair. Not to mention a few tank tops. Since that is my go-to item. Maybe a new shirt would be nice.