Page 35 of Jordan’s Breakthrough (Unexpected Love #3)

JORDAN

W hen I arrive at the psychiatrist’s office the next day, I am a few minutes late to the appointment.

I had a hard time getting out of bed since I couldn’t sleep.

Too many questions swirling in my head. The sharp scent of disinfectant and artificial lavender gives me an instant headache, and my leg bounces relentlessly in the hard gray chair.

All around me are posters about mental health and suicide awareness.

They don’t help. They only remind me of why I’m here. Why I don’t want to be here.

I want to message Miles as I wait, but my hands are too sweaty to hold the phone. I haven’t even looked at it all morning, lost in my head. But I crave his support more than ever.

After the nurse checks me in and takes my vitals, she promises that Dr. Briggs will be in shortly. My attention remains fixated on the door, the urge to leave almost overwhelming. But I don’t. I won’t.

I need to see this through. Not for Miles’ sake or anyone else’s. For my own.

Finally, Dr. Briggs walks in, dressed in all purple except for her white coat. Her smile instantly calms me, like it always does. She has one of those peaceful auras that surrounds everyone. It helps me trust her.

“Hi, Jordan,” she says, closing the door behind her. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah. You too.”

It’s a lie. I like Dr. Briggs just fine, but I still don’t like that I have to be here. It’s unfair.

She doesn’t comment on how long it’s been. Just sits down and opens her laptop. After a few introductory questions, she folds her hands together, giving me her full attention. “So, tell me what’s been going on.”

I let my breath out slow, willing my body to relax. “I think I need a change. Med-wise, I mean.”

There. I said it.

Dr. Briggs’ expression remains neutral. “Okay. What makes you feel that way?”

She allows me the time to think and choose my words carefully, which is good, because my brain feels like it’s moving too fast yet slogging through wet sand all at the same time.

“I’m not in crisis,” I say finally. “I’m not spiraling or anything. But the darkness—the sadness, I mean, it’s lingering. I think it’s always been there, to be honest. Even with what I’m on.”

“Okay. Do you think the meds have helped at all?”

“Some, yeah. But I’m… numb most days. Like I’m underwater? Everything’s muffled.”

“You struggle to focus?”

“No, I’m functioning, but I’m faking a lot of things.” Or, I was. When Miles came to visit, I had an unusually long string of happy moments. “Most of the time, anyway. I know I’m capable of joy now, but it doesn’t… stick.”

Dr. Briggs nods, quickly typing something into the computer. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. I just want to be happier, more often.” I glance away, digging a thumb into my other palm. “Also, the, um... sexual side effects? They’re becoming a problem.”

Her silence is warm, and when I glance up, she nods encouragingly. Like it’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.

“Thank you for bringing that up. Has the change been recent?”

“No. I think maybe it was always there, but I’m noticing them now.

” My throat feels tight, but I continue on.

“Sex wasn’t… I mean, I’ve never been super interested in it.

I thought it was just me, you know. Like I didn’t need it.

But now... now there’s someone in my life who makes me want it.

All the time. And I feel the urge, but I can’t act on it. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Dr. Briggs turns away from the laptop. “That’s more common than you think. And it’s frustrating, especially when you’re trying to build a relationship with someone. Have you been able to be aroused? Or ejaculate?”

My cheeks heat, but I force myself to answer. “Yes.”

“Was it difficult, though? Did you force it?”

I think back. “Sometimes I struggled, but sometimes it came easily too. The will is there, but the urge to act on it isn’t. Not when I want it to be. It’s like I’m held under and can’t move.”

“So it’s more the lack of energy to act, than the actual lack of desire?”

“Yes, exactly. Like I said, it’s there, but it doesn’t stick. The arousal or the joy. It goes away so fast.”

She nods. “Well, you’re not alone in that. Some patients say they feel they actually repel joy, because it is so rare.”

I scoff, nodding once. “That’s exactly how it feels, yeah.”

“Well, it’s not true,” she says with a warm smile. “It just means we need to make some changes, so I’m glad you came in. We can try a new medication. There are a few options with a lower risk of sexual side effects. Or even a combination approach, depending on how your brain responds.”

“I don’t want to start over entirely,” I say quickly as fear rushes in. “I can’t go back to that dark place. I can’t.”

Dr. Briggs reaches for my arm. “I hear you, Jordan. I don’t want that either. Have you been back there at all since our last visit?”

“No.”

She squeezes my arm before pulling away. “That’s good. That means we’re on the right path, at least.”

I exhale hard. “I handle the sadness. Well, most days. I’m just tired of it. I feel stuck, and I want to move forward.”

My heart stutters. Miles had said that very thing, hadn’t he? Saying getting help was my chance to move forward?

The doctor nods. “We’ll take a gradual approach.

Starting with a dose adjustment of what you’re on now, and adding a second medication, to wean you off one while adding the other.

They work differently, so you might feel a little down for a few weeks as you adjust, but we’ll monitor you closely.

If you feel yourself slipping further into depression, you need to call me, okay? No hesitation.”

I nod.

“Once you’re fully on the new medication, we’ll continue to alter the dose until you feel better.”

My leg bounces again. “And if that one doesn’t work?”

She leans forward. “Then we’ll try another. We have options, Jordan. Lots of them. It just might take time to find the right one.”

Miles said that too.

Frustration bubbles out. “But how long? I’m sick of feeling this way. I just… I want to live ! ”

She doesn’t waver, her gaze warm and steady. “It’ll take as long as it takes, but I promise you, we’ll get there.”

I lower my gaze, a knot forming in my throat. “And the other stuff? The sexual stuff? How long?”

“There’s no saying. I encourage you to keep trying, and trust your partner in it too. I’m assuming they’re aware of the struggle?”

I notice she didn’t use gender.

“He does.”

She nods. “Good. Just be open about it. I know it’s not easy to talk about this. With me, or anyone else. But I’m really glad you are. You deserve to feel better.”

I swallow hard, my energy fading. I’ve said what I needed to, now I need to listen.

We go over side effects, timelines, and follow-up appointments.

Before she leaves, she warns me again that the depression might worsen as we switch medications, but it should get better once I’m on the new one.

I hate hearing that. It fills me with so much dread and anxiety. I don’t want it to get worse at all.

You’re not alone in this, Miles says in my head. I wish he was here with me. Remembering his list of questions, I pull my phone out to review them, relieved Dr. Briggs has already addressed every single one.

Finally, she prints the script and hands it to me. I hold it gingerly.

She places a hand on my shoulder. “Give it time, Jordan. That’s the important part. All of this takes time. But if you need anything, call me. Otherwise, I’ll see you in two weeks.”

On her way out, I glance at the door again, but this time, I feel something other than panic. Something lighter and unfamiliar. Hope.

It’s been growing slowly for a few days, like fragile roots under the surface. The small piece of paper feels like the first real dose of fertilizer. I can do this.

When I get to the car, I finally pull my phone out, surprised to see my screen cluttered with both Messenger and text notifications from Miles, Declan, Seth, and Piper. I read Miles’ message first.

Miles, sent over two hours ago: Thinking of you this morning. I’m here for you.

Miles, sent one hour ago: You’ve got this. I’m proud of you.

Miles, sent just a few minutes ago: A single heart emoji.

I plan to call him in a few minutes, so instead of replying, I switch over to my family group chat to read everyone’s messages.

Declan: Good luck today, man. Let me know how it goes.

Seth: Call us.

Piper: LOVE YOU!

Even Melody and Oliver sent me encouraging messages.

The support makes me teary. I stumble through a reply on our family group thread.

Me: Hey. I’m okay. Changing meds, which is what I hoped for. The next few weeks might be rough, but it’s what I need to do. Doc is hopeful, so I am too. Love you guys.

Declan replies right away, almost as if he was waiting for me.

Declan: Glad to hear it. Whatever you need, Jord, we got you. See you tomorrow.

Suddenly, the fear of the depression getting worse isn’t as suffocating. I won’t be going through it alone.

Another message pops up, from Miles. I see you’re on. You okay?

I hit the button to video call, needing to see his face. He answers immediately, hair dripping wet, like he just stepped out of a shower. “Hey! Everything okay?”

Just hearing his voice is like a warm blanket on a cold day. I sink into it, leaning my head against the headrest and closing my eyes. For a few seconds, I’m unable to speak, needing to process everything.

“Tell me, babe. How’d it go?” Miles presses.

“Amazing,” I say with a harsh laugh. “God, why did I wait so long, Miles? She didn’t say I was wrong or minimize anything.

She listened and gave me a new script, which she said will take time to adjust to.

And she warned me it could get worse before it gets better, but fuck.

I’m so fucking relieved right now. That’s all I feel. Relief!”

“That’s good. Really good.” His cheeks puff out in a smile. “God, I wish I could hug you. I’m so proud of you. I know it’s not easy.”