The nurse got a call from the program about how I wasn't doing well (and I mean really not well) and she got worried again (oh, how I hate that) and wrote me asking me to come in as soon as possible and to keep taking 75mg of the Effexor. I wrote back essentially saying "fuck that" in the nicest possible way. I'm not going back up to 75mg now that I'm finally starting my first few days off of the pills entirely. And I don't want to go in that early. I don't want to let her be worried. It's just not justified. Or at least it's not a justified change. Nothing has changed, I've just been more honest. So I don't appreciate people freaking the hell out when I tell them my secrets. It just makes me not want to do it again. I guess I'll talk about it in group today.

On another subject, I fucking hate my breasts. I think they need a name. Tumors, maybe. That's what they feel like. No, more like weights. Like an unweildy punishment device. I tried binding this morning and it was a horrible failure. They just squash towards the middle giving me apparently unavoidable cleavage and not compressing at all. Fuck that. I've realized that there's next to no fat in my breasts. That's why they don't get smaller when I lose weight. They're that big because the actual breast tissue is big. You can feel it. Ugh. Fuck this shit. I want them to go away. I think I've figured out what I want, which is something. I want tiny breasts. Like, A cups. I really don't care if they don't work. I mean, for giving milk. And I might even be okay with giving up some nipple sensation. It'll practically be a top surgery, I think. I ought to ask a surgeon about that. Get a consultation or something.

Okay, time to catch a cab. Have to change into a bra and write down some notes for myself. Hoping that today goes well....