"The 5 Least Sexy Experiences Everyone Goes Through."

I read one of those stupid click-baity articles earlier today.

It was titled something like "The 5 Least Sexy Experiences Everyone Goes Through."

Having the flu was on the list. Now, I'm not exactly bashful when it comes to embarrassing medical problems. I've had cysts removed, I've been poked and prodded when something needed to be biopsied (it was fine, no worries), and I stopped counting how many people saw me missing some article of clothing during the biopsy problem a few years ago.

Oh, and I slobber a lot during root canals. Like, an insane amount. I'm pretty sure it's not normal.

These things don't normally bother me. A body is a body is a body, and I'm no different.

Right?

But something about having the flu just seems like the end of the world is near. A week later, I'm just now starting to get hungry and eat solid foods.

But like I said in my previous blog post, the last week of my life has not been the best week of my life. There was one particular moment when I felt especially low. I was walking through a store that rhymes with "shal-mart" and waiting to pick up my anti-nausea medication.

That involved sitting in a doctor's office and explaining my symptoms to more than one person. My doctor's office does a pretty good job of coming up with solutions to my weird requests. (I couldn't stand the thought of swallowing medicine, so I got something that dissolved instead. It worked wonders.)

That particular day last week, I was holding pepto, toilet paper, and the pharmacist who is probably a lot younger than me was talking to me about the side effects of the medication, which apparently includes constipation.

I looked around and saw several people I knew in the store at about 1 p.m. on a weekday.

I avoided them all.

Life is not always pretty, folks.

Sighs.

I've been keeping a close eye on the comments from the article I posted about yesterday.

Most of the comments have the same theme: Why do you need medicine? Why can't you just get better on your own? Why don't you just do yoga? Or breathe differently? Or exercise? Or take walks to get fresh air?

These comments make me uneasy.

While I was never formally diagnosed with anxiety or depression, taking an anxiety medicine (the same one featured in the story, as it so happens) has helped me in a huge way.

You can't get over it on your own. It's not possible.

No one deserves to live in a prison they create for themselves in their own head.

I've had people say hurtful stuff to me for other health problems in the past.

Stuff like:

If you keep going back to doctors they're going to keep finding things wrong with you because they want to make money.

You don't want to get better.

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

These comments are ignorant. To some they might be harmful.

I'm old enough and wise enough now to ignore them. When I hear people talking in public, or online, about a specific problem I have, I don't get offended and go home crying.

I used to.

Like the author said, I take Sertraline because it makes me feel better.

That's it.

In 2015, we shouldn't be having the discussion of whether depression/anxiety medicine is worth it or not, and we definitely shouldn't be having that conversation with people who've never experienced depression and anxiety.

Sigh.

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On the subject of health, I had just about the grossest flu ever last week.

And I got it after I Lysoled everything in my casa after the rest of my family had it.

You don't realize how amazing drinking water is until you can't. I had a big glass of ice water beside my bed, and I remember laying there thinking, you know, when I can actually keep stuff down, I'm going to drink water like there's no tomorrow.

Some people want world peace. Some people want power, fame, a ton of money.

I just want ice water. I'm pretty easy to please, I think.

Anyway, I'm still rocking the crackers, water, and 7UP diet at the moment.

Solid food doesn't sound appetizing, still.

Another sigh.