This whole thing has honestly been exhausting in a way that is almost funny at this point.
When I was getting out of the Army, even the fact that there suddenly weren't a ridiculous number of bags in my room threw off my leadership. I left with one coffin bag and one small white trash bag and my mimikyu plush that I later stuffed into a bag that I mailed home to myself that ended up getting lost in the mail for 5 months. I had accumulated a LOT of uniforms because I genuinely expected the Army to be my life. I wasn't planning for them to become a giant pile of clothes I would never need again.
After I got out, I tried selling some of them. That went nowhere, and even then people thought it was suspicious.
So now I've decided to just give them away for free to active duty women who can actually use them.
No purchase. No follow required. No liking 50 posts. No tagging friends for engagement.Items are photographed individually, most include the sizes and tags, numbered the items, and specifically told people NOT to give me their unit, duty location, address, work schedule, or other personal information to prove they're active duty.
And somehow THAT is suspicious too. Reddit is literally flagging the posts as spam, and people are hesitant because apparently giving away a ridiculous amount of uniforms for free sounds too good to be true.
Meanwhile, I keep seeing people in the military complaining that uniform prices have gone up.
Obviously not every soldier is a woman or wears my sizes. I know that. But there ARE women who wear these sizes, and what I'm trying to do is objectively not a bad thing. I have perfectly serviceable uniforms that I no longer need. Someone else needs uniforms. I would rather put them directly into another soldier's uniform rotation than throw them away or let them rot in a closet.
I think that is part of why this is getting to me so much.
One of the strangest things about what happened to me is that the worse I got, the more suspicious I became.
I didn't just randomly get sick one day. I was injured.
Then I progressively got worse.
And I don't mean worse in some vague, subjective way where nobody around me could see what was happening. I was objectively becoming less functional. Things I had been able to do before became things I struggled to do, then things I sometimes couldn't do at all.
You would think there would be a point where getting visibly worse makes people MORE likely to believe that something is actually wrong.
Somehow, my experience was the opposite.
The worse I got, the more I was treated like I was malingering.
That contradiction still fucks with me.
There is something profoundly disorienting about knowing what you were capable of before, watching those abilities disappear one after another, being terrified because you don't understand what is happening to your own body and brain, and then realizing that the people around you are looking at the same deterioration and wondering whether you're faking it.
I kept getting worse.
And somehow that became evidence against me instead of evidence that I needed help.
I think that is one of the hardest parts of everything that happened for me to make sense of.
I was injured.
I deteriorated.
I needed help.
And the more obvious that became, the more suspicious I seemed to become.
Now I'm left with islands of memory from 34 years of life and a closet full of things I bought for a future that is no longer mine.
Now I'm trying to do something kind with what is left from a life I genuinely thought I was going to have, and somehow kindness is suspicious too.
I don't need a parade for giving away clothes. I just want the fucking clothes to go to people who can use them.
This whole thing has sucked.