self-care
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Now that I have lured you in with an absolutely adorable picture of a golden retriever, I would like to introduce you to Butler. Although he is not technically my dog (belongs to my landlord), I have been in his life every day since he was two months old. He just turned six years old,
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Fibromyalgia. I write about this topic far too much on this blog, or so it feels. However, today’s piece isn’t so much focused on the symptoms or recent flare up, as much as it is the effect of my mental health/self-care. If you are unaware of what fibromyalgia is, here you go, you lazy bum:
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After a busy work week, I took my exhausted, yet excited ass on the road. I was on my way to spending the weekend with my awesome girlfriend. She lives about an hour to an hour and a half away from me, so the drive can be a nice way to decompress sometimes. I turn
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Fibromyalgia is a bitch. Being a male diagnosed with fibromyalgia is an even bigger bitch. I do not wish this illness upon my worst enemy, as it has consumed a significant part of the last six years. For those of you who are not familiar with this asshole of an illness, fibromyalgia is characterized as
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People do not like change whether it is good or bad. We like to have control. We like knowing potential outcomes and feeling like we have some influence over it. However, reality demonstrates time and time again that we possess little control over anything. Recently, my agency promoted me. I went from being a middleman
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This week’s therapy session took a deep turn. A few days prior, I fell into a funk of sorts. Feeling overwhelmed by illness, work, and family stuff compounded on top of one another. By the time therapy rolled around, I pretty much pulled myself out of it. This funk though sparked a different conversation though.
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This week kicked my ass metaphorically and literally. The shit show started off with a stomach bug that knocked me on my ass. For 48 hours, I was bedridden and blowing chunks. I could not sit up for more than a minute without feeling lightheaded and breaking out in a sweat. I missed two days
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Our lives present quite the conundrum. Throughout our entire lives, we learn that change is the only constant. However, as a counselor and through personal experience, I came to find out that the most human beings do not cope well with change. We possess an innate desire to feel in control and like to know
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This will be your second birthday that you will not be here in your corporeal form. As your birthday nears and I see the date growing nearer, I am served this constant reminder. Has it gotten easier since we lost you in the physical world? No. Absolutely not. Has the intensity of the grief subsided?
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I finally got some fucking answers! If you have been following my gastrointestinal saga at all, you’ll know that my poor tummy has been turned upside down by some ungodly, unknown force. At the drop of a dime, I grow nauseous and experience unnecessary intestinal torture for the next several hours. Doctors ran tests on
The Caring Counselor 