Dress shopping is my own personal hell.

Guys, I hate dress shopping.

I’m super picky about dresses (although every dress I buy tends to be dark blue or black), and if I find a pattern/cut I like, the chances of it fitting are slim to none. I’m sure if dresses fit me I wouldn’t mind as much. But right now, dress shopping, clothes shopping in general, is another reminder that I’m fat. That I don’t fit into normal clothes. That I’m not good enough for normal people stores. I have to find my clothes online, hidden away in my bedroom, behind a computer screen where nobody can see me. Or in specialty stores that cater to fat girls. Where everything is expensive and poorly made and in wild patterns. Because fat people don’t deserve normal clothes.

It’s always been this way. When I was ten we had a planner from school, and in it was a section where we could write our height, and weight, and other growth tracking statistics that children compete with. While my classmates were writing numbers like 64lbs, I scribbled down 99. And that was a lie. I weighed over ten times my own age. And that sucked. Kids are awful. People are awful. And they point out imperfections. Some imperfections are fine to have, like glasses or braces. Some are even embraced, like being too skinny or too small. And then there’s being fat. No matter the horrific cause behind it (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome here.), it’s your fault. ANyone can lose weight, apparently. All you have to do it eat less and exercise more. And when you eat nothing at all and walk miles and miles on a treadmill hidden away in your basement, it should work. But when it doesn’t, you’re defective. Not good enough. You don’t deserve nice things.

And I know it’s not in my head. People I love have told me I won’t get anywhere looking how I do. And they see me, practically killing myself every single day, and nothing’s working, and still I’m defective.

And trying to go out and buy clothes is a constant reminder that I’m not good enough.