When left to it’s own devices, my skin falls somewhere between unfortunate and never-leave-the-house-again. After dutifully going to the dermatologist every three months since I was sixteen, my doctor and I had an explosive breakup when I told her to go fuck herself and then cried as she stormed out of the room. After that I took the Trust No Bitch approach to medical decision-making, and started making exhaustive lists of every medication and product I’d ever taken, taking note of classification and mechanism of action and common side effects. I don’t advocate the belief in the internet as a form of medical training, but if you get the sense your concerns are being ignored, or that just maybe that bitch is even dumber than you are, find a reputable source of information with nothing to sell (like the Mayo Clinic) and advocate for yourself.
Continue reading “The Skin Care Post I Accidentally Made Too Long Because of My Sheer Passion”