I got an actual binder 3 weeks ago. It feels like 3 months ago. Or more. I’ve tried to describe to Gail what it feels like to wear and I keep failing, but if I don’t write this now, I’ll forget completely what it felt like at first. Already it feels normal, and mere moments ago it didn’t. But it’s so hard about this, like words or coherent thoughts, or anything that makes the slightest bit of sense is available only in glimpses. And yet this is taking up so much space in my head and my heart, so much space in our relationship (though thankfully, that seems to be mostly in good ways. It’s like Gail and I are falling in love all over again). I feel like I’m living in this thick fog. When I focus on what feels good or amazing or relieving, I’m fine, but when I look up, or try to think very hard, or god forbid actually try to get some work done, everything feels so heavy, dense, and yes, frightening.

I swear I don’t/didn’t hate my breasts. I don’t necessarily love them, but I don’t hate them. I mostly liked them fine when I was nursing. They never felt all that sexual to me. I never wished them away completely, nor did I ever wish they were bigger or nicer or anything else. I’d say my relationship with them was one of ambivalence. I’m stuck with them. There they are. They could definitely be worse.

But I get such a charge out of binding, out of making them (mostly) disappear. It’s hard to pin down, but it’s like I was kind of dead or numb before and didn’t know, but now I actually feel this part of my body. Like if I look in the mirror it just looks right. If I have the binder on and GAil runs her hands down my chest like there were never breasts there at all, I love it. I feel like that’s how I want to be touched, how I want to be seen. Where before I just kind of didn’t care, now I really care, and really like it. It’s a presence of (good) feeling where before there was absence of feeling. Yes, breathing is a little harder, and yes it gets uncomfortable after a long day, and yes, I’m still working to figure out something that fits a bit better, but I barely even notice all that.

But if this feels so strong right now, how did I miss it for so long? Is denial that powerful or does that fact alone, that binding didn’t dawn on me as a possibility until age 34, mean I’m making this all up? And I keep thinking maybe this is just regular. That maybe not many people think to try it, but that actually anyone would feel this way. Gail has offered to try, but claims the very idea is somewhat horrifying, which doesn’t exactly bolster my case that “anyone would feel this way.” Even in the haze, I can tell that last argument is pretty sketchy.

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