Total dysmorphia. I hate my breasts. They hurt, physically, and I don't want to look at them. But I can’t help but touching them compulsively, as to make sure they are there.

I wanted to wear a friend’s green tank top, but I couldn’t find it in their wardrobe. But that wasn't the real problem, as it appeared then.

The problem was my reaction in the moment. I burst into tears, hysterically. I longed for this day for weeks just so that I could put on that tank top, and prove (to myself or others?) that I CAN wear it even though I have small breasts. But now I can’t wear it, and without it I feel tiny again, ashamed and as if I had betrayed and let myself down.

This tank top represented a way for me to love myself, to feel comfortable with my breasts. Without this tank top, I don't know how to do that. I feel deprived of a necessary tool, and that's the problem. It's a damn tank top.

I know I shouldn’t stay alone with this pain, but how can I explain this when it sounds ridiculous even in my head?”