otp: i love italian and so do you

okay but prussia constantly antagonizing romano by getting things off of high shelves for him even though romano can reach them just fine and he’s getting so annoyed all the time while italy is like “??? he’s just trying to be helpful he does that for me too??” and romano’s like “nO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND”

Top surgery. No. Yes. No. Yes. No.

Oh how conflicted I feel about this. Especially as I’m about to go on T (tomorrow I find out how soon it will be, but I think we’re looking at a couple weeks from now), I need to start thinking about some of the ways I will present myself in the long run. And probably, that’s going to involve top surgery.

I’ve always been so conflicted about my chest. When I was a kid (and I mean legit a kid, I got picked on for having boobs in first grade) I was deeply ashamed of my chest and wanted so badly never to grow boobs. I refused to wear a bra for several years until my family finally dragged me to Kmart and forced me to buy one, which was traumatic, and then for several years after that I wouldn’t wear anything but sports bras. So yeah, I was pretty miserable about growing a chest, although I didn’t really connect this to my gender. I assumed it was just because I got them so early and it was embarrassing. (Incidentally, the adults around me took note of how ashamed I was of my body, but they interpreted this as “modesty” and praised me for it.)

But then when I was a teenager I started to love my chest, because I was trying hard to be feminine and sexy and all the things I thought I needed to be for anyone to love me. And when 90% of my naked reflection stared back at me in a stubbornly unfeminine way, my chest was quite happy to be sexy and feminine. I was deeply ashamed of the rest of my body - my wide shoulders and narrow hips and pouchy stomach - so I wore clothes designed to get everyone to look at my chest. For years and years it was the only part of my body I associated with my own sexiness.

And, well, now that I’ve realized I’m trans, everything’s up in the air. I don’t associate my chest with sexiness anymore; my tits are just sort of these things that hang there and get in the way. I have a much more positive body image overall, and I associate my sexiness with all the parts I hated before: my legs, my stomach, my face, my shoulders, even my genitals (which I like better now that I don’t think of them as female). But because of what my chest represented for me for so many years, I still feel affection for it. I think breasts are beautiful, and I think my chest is beautiful. When I’m alone.

But as soon as I go out of the house I get deeply ashamed and I want the fucking things gone. I know when other people see them, they erase all my attempts to define my gender, they scream “WOMAN” so loud no one can hear anything else I say. This summer has been hell for me, because I can’t stand wearing my binder in the heat, and I won’t wear a bra, so I just go out with tits swinging everywhere under my t-shirts. And then I have to use the women’s restroom, which I hate doing, and I have to pee sitting down, and still I get women walking into the restroom, taking one look at me, and walking out. Mostly I just try not to leave the house too much these days.

Ah, but then when I go on T… what then? I can’t be walking around looking completely male but with these tits. I won’t feel safe. So I’ll have to bind every single day for the rest of my life, and I just can’t see doing that. Plus, I long desperately just to put on a T-shirt with nothing under it.

So it looks like top surgery is going to be a thing I am going to need. But I’ll be sad about it, because I’ll know that I’m altering a part of my body I would otherwise be fine with mostly because of social pressure to conform to a binary gender, and because of other people’s insistence that “breasts = woman”. And that sucks.