Gathering // Two

The Neverending Pursuit of Physical Perfection, and Why I'm Rejecting it

I’ve been wanting a breast reduction since I was thirteen years-old. Smaller boobs. Tiny boobs. Almost nonexistent boobs. I dreamed and still dream of them. My breasts have always felt like appendages hanging from my chest, attached by superglued suction cups. I’ve had dreams about slicing into them, carving them away from my breastbone, and throwing them off a cliff into the ocean.

I always considered this superficial. There was something wrong with me, to not want this body part so many women paid good money to install beneath their skin. But now I know it’s gender dysphoria, and the urge has only grown stronger. On some days it’s intolerable. That I don’t identify as a man, and don’t want my breasts completely removed, means I will never get insurance coverage. So my quest to save ten thousand dollars continues.

There are other things about myself I dislike in a more traditional sense. For instance, I have an ambivalent relationship with the frown line between my eyebrows. It’s been…