1: simultaneous and contradictory attitudes or feelings towards an object, person, or action
2 a: continual fluctuation (as between one thing and it’s opposite)
b: uncertainty as to which approach to follow
That pretty much sums up how I feel lately. Not so much about myself, but about my breasts. I’m going to get personal in this post. I know that sounds funny considering the amount of personal information I put on this blog, but I don’t always get into how I am feeling deep down. I don’t always talk about the lingering effect that some things have on me.
Ever since the realization sunk in (which it hasn’t all the way, surprisingly) that I would have to undergo a double mastectomy I have felt a disconnect from my breasts. It’s almost as if I am mad at them. Like I’m giving them the silent treatment. I look at them and I think “you really let me down.” I feel like I don’t even care that they are there anymore. I never really gave them too much thought to begin with, but I was always glad they were there. I mean, generally speaking, I like my breasts. I think they’re just the right size for me and for the most part we’ve always gotten along fine. I like to think I was there for them through two surgeries and we came out of that alright. And now look how they repay me! Traitors!
I’ve started to feel distinctly un-sexy. That’s a strange term for me to even use since the last word I would ever use when describing myself would be sexy. Yet, that is exactly how I feel. Supremely un-sexy. I know, I know… your breasts don’t define who you are. I get that. But until you are going through something like this (and I haven’t even gone through it yet!) you can’t begin to imagine the way your brain starts to work overtime to imagine a you without that part of you. I’ve begun to feel as if they are already gone. It’s like I no longer think of myself as having breasts. I know that sounds nuts, but it’s true. I feel… nothing. Sometimes I will be walking along the street and just feel gross. Unattractive. Damaged goods. I know that this is not the case. But we’re not talking about stone cold logic now are we? We’re talking about emotions, which are about as far away from the land of logic as you can imagine. My brain says, “Amy, you’ll be fine. You know that you’re still a wonderful person no matter what is happening or what will happen,” but my heart (or whatever is rebelling against my brain to defy logic) likes to think otherwise.
It’s summer outside so it’s hot. Girls wear little tank tops or dresses and I find I can’t help but think how lucky they are to get to keep their breasts. No one will ever look at them and see huge scars on their breasts. They’ll never have to feel as if they’ve been put back together piece by piece to kind of resemble what they used to look like before things went bad. I can’t help feeling a little sting of envy. It is the first time I have thought the words “why me?” I can’t stress enough that I know all of this is not entirely true. I know that no one will think me a monster because of the way that I look and that I am more than just my breasts. I know that. But you know what? I still have to look at myself in the mirror and accept and re-define how I feel about myself as a sexual/desirable human being. I haven’t even had the surgery and already I am turned off by seeing myself naked. Not even turned off, I just think “meh”.
Maybe this is healthy. Maybe my mind is trying to protect me by detaching myself emotionally from my breasts. Maybe it’s a survival mode of some sorts. I don’t know what it is, I just know it doesn’t feel good. I don’t know when I’ll finally get this surgery, I just know that I’ll have to. I feel gross about the whole situation and I don’t like it. Ah well. Such is life. I guess we all have to face things we’d rather not face and try to keep ourselves together somehow. It’ll be fine. I’m just having an off day. Maybe a nice long walk outside will help.