I’ve started to bind twice, since my current binder is losing elasticity too quickly. That might, however, be all in my head. The struggle for a flatter chest is constant. So I went to an adult store and bought some bondage tape. I remembered a demonstration I had in the past with this particular tape (not that kind of demonstration…) and it seemed perfect, as it stuck to itself and was just stretchy enough. I wrapped it around my chest and slipped my binder over on top. Magnificent. I put on a few of my favourite tops and modelled my new flatter chest in them. My confidence was higher than it had been in a while, and I felt more, well, more like me.

I did realise the dangers of compressing my chest that much and I let my friends know when I was out with them that I was double-binding, and when I felt a little funny, and needed a breather. They are all more than understanding, and I’ve not had any complications, thank goodness. I guess my ribs are a little sensitive these days, but I give myself breaks.

On Wednesday, I had the opportunity to meet with my school friends for an early evening catch-up drink in London. I was heading to see my parents and my sister for a few days anyway so I made the most of my trip. Since it was only a casual encounter with my friends, I only wore the single binding vest. Looking incredibly flat isn’t a problem when I’m home in London. I guess I don’t really want to look ‘too flat’. I had only really spoken to them about my transition once – when I first came out to them after several alcoholic beverages. So it’s all very new to them still. And being home, was like being a girl again.  And a massive step back.

At the pub with my friends and my sister, although I wasn’t surprised to hear ‘her’ and ‘she’ thrown around, it did make me uncomfortable. I’ve known these guys for 7-8 years, and they’ve known me as a girl, as a gay girl and now they know me as a trans man. And I’ve spent the past few months out in a place where I am ‘he’ and ‘him’. So yeah, a massive step back.

I made sure I had eaten before getting the 45 minute Tube journey into Central London, as I knew I’d be having a drink and that really puts pressure on my stomach, with the binder. Feeling comfortable, I had a fruity premium cider and chatted with my already-tipsy friends. I often like a cheeky cigarette when I’m drinking, so it wasn’t unusual for me to roll one in the present company. I felt a little bloated and full-up even though it was my first drink; it usually takes a couple more than that before I feel the pressure on my stomach. Nevertheless, I stopped drinking and took a fag break. This usually helps me feel better. I had only taken a few drags when I knew something wasn’t right. My stomach was aching, feeling so tight, which wasn’t helped by the pressure coming inwards from my binder. I had stopped engaging in all conversation, all sounds were duller. I yawned, trying to pop my ears to hear better, but nothing happened. My hearing was actually going. Was I ill? Did I need to be sick? I didn’t know what I needed. I was outside in the open air, I had stopped smoking, and stopped drinking. My sugar levels were high enough from that cider, and I wasn’t thirsty, hungry, too hot or too cold.

I went towards the stuffy bar and headed for the girls toilets. This was no time to brave the men’s as I suddenly realised that taking my binder off might be a possibility. I felt really faint, like I wasn’t really there. Walking down the staircase to the toilets, I must have looked pretty pissed, it took all my focus and effort to move my feet. I managed to get to the toilets, repeating my mantra of ‘just get inside a cubicle and sit down’. I was thoroughly shaking at this point. Luckily I bumped into my friend in there. I said to her immediately, “I think I’m going to faint,” and she sobered up and asked me, “Why, what’s wrong?” I explained quickly that it might be my binder, as a cold sweat broke out all over me. I pulled off my hoody, threw it in her face and went to the cubicle. I ripped off my t-shirt and peeled off my binder; it took such force and strength, I thought that might have just tipped me over the edge. It was suddenly very quiet. All sounds had faded out and been replaced with a high pitched buzzing. I felt dizzy and rested my head on the tissue roll dispenser, telling myself to keep my eyes open. I was completely topless; naked, shaking and sweating. I felt disgusting, and absolutely awful, but knew there was no way I could put the binder back on, unless I wanted my friend to find me topless and passed out on the toilet. (Somehow being drunk would have made that sound better.) A few minutes passed and I put my t-shirt back on. I chuckled to myself, haven’t seen these out in a while. I was never happier for my small perky boobs. I opened the door, informing my friend I felt better, taking my hoody back off her before she saw my liberated chest. I zipped it up and honestly, no one could tell any difference. The shakes were fading slowly as I tucked my binder into my trousers and splashed my face with cold water. I made my way back out into conversation and it was like nothing happened.

Of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about my liberated tits. I had to keep reminding myself of those terrible feelings to stop me from putting my binder back on. At the same time, I was truly puzzled as to why that had happened. I’ve been binding for months and months, and it’s definitely been tighter than this, when I’ve been in worse states than this – over-eating and over-drinking. I’m still not sure why it happened, I know it’s not uncommon with people binding, but I feel like it’s uncommon for me. It’s scared me a little, made me realise the health risks with binding. I am well aware of them, but now, they seem a little more real.

I’d like to have some light shed on this ‘episode’ of mine; have any of my trans followers had any close-calls like this? The only advice I ever got with a binder was to never wear it after eating. That was when I wore one part-time. Now, wearing it full-time, I’ve throw that rule out of the window. I sometimes wear my binder when I sleep, and on rare occasions, over 48 hours at a time, with only a small break for a shower. As Dr. Pepper once said, “What’s the worst that could happen?”