liz, queen of outer space (azure_rhymes) wrote in breastreduction,
liz, queen of outer space

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Hi, I'm Liz, I'm nineteen, and I have huge knockers. 
Hiiiii Liz
So, I've had massive jugs since pretty much the beginning of my adolescence. I had ovarian cysts when I was a wee lass that caused me to start developing early. (like, really early. like, 8 years old early.) Basically, I don't remember not having tits. I do remember, however, going from an C cup to a DDD/E cup in the six month span between 8th grade ending and the Christmas after. What an awesome way to start high school, right? Yeah, wicked fun. There's nothing like suddenly gaining a reputation for being an arrogant slut literally overnight. Haha, high school.
I've wanted a reduction since I was fifteen, when I was graciously dubbed "Double D Lizzey" by my classmates. Thanks, guys. My mom had one when I was in the seventh grade, so I've watched the healing process and everything and I've known what I was getting myself into. My parents got divorced around the same time and money disappeared quickly, so my parents could never afford to buy me bras that fit. 
For years, I stuffed myself into Victoria's Secret 36DD bras because they were the only things that made me feel somewhat normal. There was no way on God's green earth that I was going to wear huge beige lace grandma over the shoulder boulder holders at sixteen. I refused, to save some shred of dignity. (And let's be real here. Minimizers don't minimize shit. They just turn your tits into traffic cones.) So, I never owned a bra in my correct size until a year ago, when I finally told my dad that I was going to drown myself in the bathtub if he didn't take me to La Femme, the most wonderful lingerie store ever to exist in the History of Breastdom. (They're in Portsmouth, NH. If you're ever in the area, pop in. The woman who runs the place is hilarious and her dog is a sweetie. And they carry all kinds of sizes! Victory!)

My bitty-breasted friends didn't understand why I sobbed the entire first day I had my new bra. Sure, I was being kind of melodramatic, but I looked hot. My tits looked smaller in a 34F than they had ever looked in a 36DD. Fuckin miracles, yo! So I went a bought a whole pile of them with my Pell grant refund. Three hundred bucks later, I was a fox. Confidence? Through the roof. Men? Falling at my feet. Women? Burning with jealousy and secret lesbian feelings. Okay, so maybe I'm being dramatic. But really! I felt like a whole new person! A sexy person! I'd never felt sexy before in my life. The thing a lot of smaller-breasted women don't seem to understand is that the bigger and heavier your tits are, the faster you lose the battle with gravity. And saggy grammy udder-tits at eighteen years old kind of killed any personal perception of sex appeal I had. Armed with my new bras and my new outlook on life and myself, I squashed the idea of a reduction down into the back room of my brain.

So, new bras! Great! Fantastic! Everything is awesome! But then I got a job last October. I got a job bagging groceries and pushing carriages. And then I got a second job in February, running around a seafood shack kitchen and lugging lobster traps around. I lost fifteen goddamn pounds, and then none of my lovely brand new bras fit anymore! The bands were way too big, and so I wasn't getting any support! And you kind of need support when you're working your face off.

I got refitted in June, and kind of recoiled when I put on a 32G and it fit right. For some reason in my head, an F cup was reasonable, but a G cup was way too much. A G cup was something I was actually going to be ashamed of talking about. A G cup wasn't me. It couldn't have been. I felt almost obscene, almost freakish. How could my body betray me like this? Again, I was being dramatic, but it brought the idea of a reduction to the front of my mind. I can't afford to buy sixty dollar bras every time I gain or lose weight out of nowhere.

So, I made up my mind to at least talk to my GP about it. I'd hit the breaking point. I took my small-chested friend out bra shopping cause she hadn't been fitted since she was fourteen, and I came home and cried for an hour because god dammit I can't shop at Aerie fuckitall why can't I just be a regular girl!? That, plus my increasingly debilitating tension headaches and muscle tension tight enough to play like a guitar, and combined with my declining relationship with my boyfriend that ultimately ended due to my fantastic crippling body image issues that have manifested as oh god my chest is gross don't touch me wait no but I love you and you are sexy but no fuck I don't want to inflict my body on you ahaughuahguahguuh stop calling me hot I don't believe you, I'd had just about enough. My GP wrote me a referral to the plastic surgeon, and to a physical therapist. (PT is amazing, by the way. If you have the means, try it. I get a workout and a back massage twice a week and my shoulders have never been more loose and relaxed. Seriously, magical.) My physical therapist actually recoiled when she touched my shoulders for the first time. Apparently it's not normal to have shoulders that feel like an overcooked chuck roast. Whodathunkit?

And, I guess that brings us to present day. It's September 3rd, 2011. I have a consultation with a plastic surgeon on the 7th. My ex's mother fought valiently with breast cancer a few years ago and had surgery to get rid of it, so she's being super wonderfully supportive. (Bless my ex's heart for putting up with me. We're still friends, but it's a little weird to be like yeah hey dude can I talk to your mom about boob surgery? thanx.) I'm completely terrified. I've had three panic attacks so far after watching medical TV shows where people die on the operating table. Scrubs, House, Grey's Anatomy? You're all dead to me until after I'm done getting cut up. 

But I'm also crazy excited. I feel like I can finally actually start my life after I have surgery. I've had a rough time, and college has kind of taken a back seat because of insecurity, but I've made up my mind to apply to a teaching university for the 2012-2013 school year. Because I've made up my mind about surgery, I can make up my mind about everything. I've never had this much clarity before. 

I can't wait to be a real person. I really can't

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