Wake up. Line strips of tape along my chest to conceal the unwanted breast tissue that lays on my pre-op body. Feel the tape pulling at my skin all day, as I move in various directions. Hear my skin and breast tissue cry for release from the tape bondage that I have created, but not being able to release them for the sake of a flat chest that my brain to dearly craves. And when the day comes to an end, peeling the tape off of my chest with extraordinary aggravation. Then starting the whole thing over the next day. All so that I can trick myself and everyone else into seeing the flat chest that I so desperately want.
And I wish there was a way that I could make you feel what I feel on a daily basis. And when I have to leave different events because the tape on my chest is coming off or moving out of place, I wish that I could make you understand how awful the situation feels. I think that everyone would have a whole new appreciation for life after taping their chest for just a day, yet it is something I do every single day.
You don’t understand how easy you’ve had it until you have to take strips of tape off of your chest every night, just to reveal swollen bruised skin that you can’t feel anymore. This is not a cry of pity, but rather an unmatched frustration that I struggle to find words for. A frustration that becomes a little more intense with every minuscule complaint that you have about your body.
All day I hear people talk about their imperfections. About the couple of pounds they wished they hadn’t gained, and the couple of hairs that keep falling out of place.
But when I look at my body all I see is imperfection.
Just one big imperfection.
And going to the gym won’t help.
Switching up hygiene products won’t make me feel more comfortable.
For there is nothing that I can do to forget about the tumors that cling on my chest.
How can I sit here and act content when you have been born with something that I would give anything for? Something I dream about both day and night. You have been given something so precious, yet you nor anyone else even realizes it.
And it’s not your fault. You will never truly understand your luck until you have been putting tape on your chest for over 360 days. Until your skin turns purple and becomes unable to feel anything. Until you have to leave parties to go home and reapply the tape that holds back the skin that isn’t yours.
For there is only one thing that can put a stop to the poisonous thoughts that have taken hold of my brain and imprisoned my body. And before I can peel the tape off of my chest for good, I have to put forward money that most don’t have and submit myself to the knife.
And while I try to keep my head up and push forward, the thoughts will never leave.
There will never be enough smoke to fill my lungs or poisons to ingest, that will take my mind off of the tape on my chest and the lack thereof on yours.
