Music, Keidreiy, and all that Drama: Body Image and Boobs

So an update that I promised and never delivered on- last time I checked I lost about 2 pounds. I think I gained them back. I'm having a bit of an emotional breakdown.

I just got back from an exploration seminar to London and Paris (!) but the downside is that we got stuck in Chicago because our flight got cancelled...I'll tell that story later. But suffice it to say that the last 2 days have left me emotionally drained.

Today's post is about...boobs. Somehow I stumbled across something on buzzfeed that led me to this thing called Busty Girl Comics.

For those of you who don't know, my boobs suck. By third grade, my mother wouldn't let me out of the house in a light shirt without my little sports bra. Oh, you had to ask your mom to buy you a bra? How cute. Yeah. I hated it. I'm not confident in my body. When a third grade boy asks you if you're wearing a bra on the playground and you're just like...nooo......half way in tears...yeah. Not a fun time.

Right before seventh grade, I approached my mom to tell her I thought I needed new bras. I gave her a peek down my shirt and that's all the convincing she needed. I was literally spilling out of my little A cups as I did sixth grade algebra. We went to Kohls, I got sized for the first time (before my mom just bought bras she thought would fit) and much to my dismay, I was sized at a C cup. This is wonderful, but keep in mind I was 12. Other girls my age were padding their cute little junior-section bras with tissues after gym while I wore matronly nude bras under a little girl sports bra and a cami, just to be comfortable in gym. (and you wonder why I'm fat and hate all sports. I'm mortified of my f***ing boobs...)

Tenth grade comes along. I don't know how to dress right. I'm trying to be modest but keep forgetting the fact that big boobs on a short girl with a cami that's just slightly too low and tall guys don't mix. I didn't realize this dilemma until senior prom. Yeah. In tenth grade, I had not one, but two bisexual senior boys hit/creep on me. I was 15, sitting there, pulling up my cami uncomfortably.
The first guy went to my school and was in plays with me. His intentions were...okay, not as bad as the other guy's, but he lacked social skills. He did try to be nice, but the day I started a diet and was cranky about it, he tried to cheer me up by buying me chips. That I couldn't eat. When we found out we were doing Beauty and the Beast my junior year (after he had graduated) he said that he wanted to be Lumiere, that my friend would make a great Belle (even though she had no interest in the part and we all know how obsessed with this play I am) and that I would make a great...get this...Mrs. Potts. MRS. POTTS. Now I know we didn't do the Disney version and that Mrs. Potts doesn't necessarily mean fat...but to a hormonal insecure fifteen year old girl...it was the end of the world. I was sick of being type-cast as "the fat girl" - the villain, leader of the german spies, Cinderella's fairy godmother, Beauty's mother, the Little Nun...Because fat busty girls can't be Cinderella. We can't have a fat girl be Beauty. She's too short to be seen on stage...Little Nun- perfect. (don't get me wrong-I do actually love my height and frequently joke about it. Make a quip about my height and I'll think it's hilarious. Or my shoe size. Or my tiny baby hands. Because I like those parts of me. But comment on my weight or boobs and I will go cry in a corner for an hour. Because I hate that part of me).
The second boy I met at my little sister's family camp. His opening line? "I'm a senior in high school and I've never had a girlfriend and I'm really lonely." I was stuck with him in an art cabin, too polite to leave. The only reason I was there was because there was a piano I wanted to play there. By the end of talking to him for an hour, he had told me his life story and that he was bisexual, among other things. I finally pulled the overprotective parents card and told him my mom and dad wanted me home by 10 and left after he played a song about school shootings. This whole time I kept yanking on my cami, trying to pull it higher. The next time this kid showed up at camp, his hair was down to his shoulders, his nails were painted black, and he had no respect for anyone in my group of friends. He was constantly trying to join our group but kept making derogatory jokes and inappropriate comments around the younger campers, even when the other boys told him nicely to stop. I don't know what his deal is.

The summer of senior year, I was wearing a swimsuit on mission trip. I was a DD by this point. Thankfully, a t shirt over the suit was required for everyone, because I discovered that my XL tankini top (my first tankini ever, mind you) no longer housed even half of my boobage. I came home, sobbing to my mother about how nothing fit and I was ugly and fat and I kept running into things with my boobs and playing guitar was hard and...the list goes on and on. She said to me, "Why don't you just cut them off?"
"What? You can do that?"
"Yeah. I did it. After we adopted the boys." I was about 8 at the time. I remembered her having a surgery "to help her back"
"What? Why didn't you tell me?!?!?" I've been suffering from huge boobs since before seventh grade, I've tried wearing three layers of bras and camis (one for support, one for coverage, and a cami to hold everything in) I've tried reduction bras and slimming camis and everything. And you've watched me struggle through this and not say anything about going through the exact same damn thing? Seriously, Mom?
She had her reduction after having us kids. She was an H or something and got back down to a DD. She was supposed to end up a D, but then gained weight or something.

We made an appointment. I was a DD. I quickly got over my initial discomfort of letting a male doctor examine my boobs. If it meant that they could be normal, then it was worth it, and I gladly stripped. (if you're getting a reduction, this is going to happen every time you go in for an appointment. Might as well get used to it.
We had to ask the insurance if they'd cover it. They said yes - if I was 18. That was four months away. On my birthday, I called the insurance company and asked them to resubmit my claim. It was approved and on January 2, 2013, I found myself at the hospital. By lunchtime, my boobs had shrunk by two pounds. I was thrilled (once I got over the initial weakness...a day later) I could wear button down shirts, I could wear t shirts with words on the chest and not look stupid, I could put my arms straight down on my sides and not squish my boobs in in the process. By the time I had the surgery, I was spilling out of DDD's. I think I went down to B (a cup size I skipped in puberty). I was never sure. Bra shopping once I got out of sports bras a month later became very very complicated.
The surgery itself was an ordeal. I couldn't carry my french horn, or anything over 20 pounds. I had to be careful and shield them from bear hugs from people I didn't want to hug. I couldn't really explain to the world what I'd done because BOOBS! shh...nobody talks about boobs. breast reduction boobs whisper you're not allowed to talk about boobs...social stigma and all that bullshit
Yeah. I had scars and every month for the next six months when my time came, my boobs hurt like hell. You think your boobs are tender? That's nothing. Try it post op.
I went through a heck of a lot for smaller boobs. For less neck pain. For being comfortable in my short and petite body. For being able to wear a dress from a store and not custom making it. For not feeling like a midget hooker. For liking myself just a little bit more. But it was so worth it. I loved my boobs after the surgery, scars and all.

But then the unthinkable happened. Just before I moved out to college, I decided to get sized for a bra. About six months had passed since the surgery, and by then all of the swelling had gone down and my boobs were at their permanent size. I went to Victoria's Secret and got sized on my half birthday (my sister's birthday. yep). They sized me at a 38B. I bought their demi bra in a cute grey color with pink lace that reminded me of a baby elephant. A pretty bra, so soft and perfect. I also bought a cheap walmart t shirt bra in the same size for a back up. By midterms, I had stopped wearing the VS bra. It didn't offer enough coverage and every time I wore it, my nipples spilled out. By finals, my walmart bra was on its last stretched out sweaty leg. It was time for the dreaded bra shopping.

Lucky for me, Victoria's Secret was having their big bra sale. I had gained about 15 pounds during freshman year, so I figured I'd go up a cup size and be good. 38C is still better than 38DDD+. I knew I had to get their full coverage bra this time. I didn't like demis. I found one, went into the room and tried it on. I thought it was ok at first, but then realized that it wasn't. Then I asked the workers to size me again. They put me in a 36D. Okay. I can live with that. Go down a band size, up a cup size. It's a sister size. Yeah. This is okay. Still single letters...stay calm. The demi sample bra fit. I asked to try a full coverage in the 36D. This was , to my horror, too small. The 36DD in the full coverage fit. At this point, I'm half in tears in the Victoria's Secret dressing room, staring at my fat ass and huge boobs in a 36DD bra.
"It's just a number," the saleslady tells me. "It doesn't matter."
"It does too fucking matter!" I want to yell at her. "Do you even realize how much pain I went through to get smaller boobs, only to be back in the same fucking size less than a year later? DO YOU REALIZE THE EMOTIONAL TRAUMA THAT THESE STUPID THINGS PUT ME THROUGH EVERY DAY?!?! DO YOU?!"
Instead, I say, "Why does the 36D in the demi fit me but not in full coverage?" Thinking, maybe the style runs small. Maybe it's not me.
"Well, the demi is stretched out from being tried on." *sound of giant parade balloon being popped and all the air hissing out of it*
Great.
I end up going back to walmart, finding a bra in a 38D that runs small in the band size. Now it's just past midsem and my faithful little walmart bra is flaking out on me yet again. I'm going to have to go bra shopping, and guess what? This one is also getting too small for my boobs.

I'm beginning to think that my boobs will never stop growing. I've heard stories of people who have to have multiple reduction. A bit of research has shown me that if you have a reduction when you're young, say 18, your boobs very well might grow back.

For a bit of perspective, here's how I looked before the surgery:

Summer 2012. That skirt is at my natural waist. Yep. It was bad.