It's almost surprising it didn't happen sooner. Even though I made the decision to have surgery to get rid of my breasts, I managed to keep any super strong negative feelings directed towards said breasts at bay, if that makes sense. I just wanted them gone; they were an annoyance. Well, I finally loathe my breasts. It's like (hear me out) they're these relatives, or something, right, that I don't necessarily like, but have allowed to stay with me for a while because it seemed easier than making them leave, but they have finally overstayed their welcome, and I'm so hyper aware of it, and unfortunately, because of financial stuff, they can't leave for another three and a half months or so, and even though, at this point, we've been putting up with each other for years, three and a half months seems so unbearably long a time to wait. You know?
So, I do what I can. Like wear hot outfits. Tonight's ensemble: black boots, ribbed spandex leggings that match my hair (purpley-blue), short tight black dress, and a simple black vest that I bought to wear after surgery/ post breasts. I managed to button the vest, and it acted kind of like a binder--not a completely flat chest, but much flatter. All in all, visually pleasing, and I think I looked hot. But I was also reminded why I don't wear a binder. I mean, it's been years, and I've never worn one regularly. I know they're uncomfortable, but I think I had forgotten how hard it is to simply breathe while wearing one. Just wearing a tight vest reminded me of that, and I know how much more constrictive an effective binder would be.
I have my first shot of testosterone scheduled for this Tuesday. And hopefully shortly thereafter, I will be setting a date for surgery. And then I can start a countdown. And time will pass, like it does. And life will keep going on.
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