Over the years, I have surprised myself by being able to continue on past what I thought was my limit. It really is amazing. I don’t really know what the alternative is… I guess crawling into bed and never coming out again? Trust me, there are definitely days where that is all I want to do, but I have two lovely little kitties that require feeding and loving.
This neck/shoulder/back stuff, however, seems to be pushing it. I think I finally found a limit. A hard and fast limit.
I’ve been debating posting this because… well, because. This is going to be a very frank discussion on hitting limits and depression. I don’t like to discuss my depression, at least not the part of it that’s active. Depression tends to gain a lot of pity, and I hate pity. Depression is a part of who I am, it’s something I live with daily, it’s something that is always going to be a part of me. However, depression does not define me, and usually I have a pretty good grip on it. Usually.


As far as medical testing is concerned, that is definitely one of the most painful tests I’ve had to do. He started by hooking leads up to various spots, then using a probe thing to shock me at different magnitudes until he got the results he needed. Not fun. Then the second half of the test, he stuck me with a needle in five different spots (one at a time). He didn’t shock me with them, but he would leave it in a minute with the nerve at rest, then he would have me activate that muscle (so tense it up) in a specific way. That was actually okay, for the most part. The needle in the muscle on the side and base of my thumb wasn’t fun. He put it in and then said “I know, that one stings.” Apparently, I made a face? Oh well, at least he knew it wasn’t comfortable. The others were okay. He put one needle in on the back of my hand at the base of the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. Then he put one in my bicep, one in my tricep, and one in my deltoid.